A sharp unease slices through me, followed by a crushing pressure that makes it hard to breathe. The pull toward the hallway is immediate and violent, like something unseen has wrapped a fist around my ribs and is dragging me forward. I grab Zeke's arm to steady myself.
"It's pushing me," I say. "Like it wants me to do something."
"Don't," Zeke says instantly. "Whatever it wants, don't do it. Please."
"I can't help it, Z." My voice drops to a whisper. "It wants me to move. Toward the hallway."
Uncle Donovan takes a step back, eyes darting around the room. "Why the hallway? That's where the men are trying to come in at."
A loud crack explodes from the back of the house, making all of us jump.
"They're testing the perimeter," Agent Williams says.
"That means they're here. Right now. On my property." The words come out thin and breathless. My heart slams against my ribs. A second sound follows—quieter this time. Something brushes against the siding. Or someone.
"They're starting with the windows," Agent Williams says, low and controlled. "Checking for weak spots. An unlocked latch. A broken pane."
Uncle Donovan swears under his breath. "We don't have weak points. The windows and doors are locked. Zeke and Andy personally went around and reinforced everything."
"That won't stop them," Agent Williams says. "If they want in, they'll find a way."
The house groans again, this time from the opposite side. A hard throb spears through my temple, and I gasp.
"I'm okay," I say quickly, before Zeke can panic. "It just feels like something keeps pressing against my mind." It makes it hard to focus on the danger of the situation we're in right now.
"Why now?" Uncle Donovan mutters. "We're a little busy." Under different circumstances, I might have laughed at his dramatic antics.
"They're circling the house," Agent Williams says, moving toward the hallway and peering into the dark.
"Are they just looking for a way in?" Zeke asks.
"No." Agent Williams tells us, but doesn't look back. "They're looking for her." Another vibration rattles the picture frames on the walls. The air turns colder, heavier. The shadows stretching down the hall seem to deepen all at once.
"What the hell is that?" Donovan asks. Before I can explain the pain in my head spikes so hard that my knees nearly give out. Zeke is at my side instantly.
"Rocky, stay with me," Zeke pleads, worry etched on his face.
"I'm trying." The veil pulses again, stronger this time. A lamp in the living room flickers violently, then goes dark. Dawn is starting to bleed through the windows, but the dim light only makes the room feel stranger.
"It's reacting to you?" Agent Williams asks, turning toward me.
"No." I press a hand to my chest. "It's reacting for me. Trying to help me."
The floor trembles beneath us, faint but unmistakable, like something massive is shifting under the house.
"This isn't normal," Uncle Donovan says, his voice shaking.
"Nothing about this is normal," Agent Williams snaps.
A scrape drags across the back of the house, metal against siding.
"They're trying to pry something open," Zeke says, anger sharpening his voice.
Williams moves farther down the hall. "The back door," he says, pointing.
"Z…" I clutch his hand harder. "I need to go into the hallway. No—I have to." The pressure inside my head surges again. My vision blurs at the edges.
"No," Uncle Donovan says immediately. "Absolutely not. That's where they are."
"I know." The words come out sharper than I mean them to. Another wave of pain nearly drops me to the floor, but this time I understand it. It isn't trying to hurt me. It's warning me.
"It wants you to move?" Agent Williams asks. I nod as he shines his flashlight toward me, trying to read what's happening, but another pulse slams through my skull so hard I stumble. Zeke catches one arm. Agent Williams catches the other.
"Easy," Agent Williams says.
The house gives another strained creak. Then we hear it. A soft metallic click. The lock on the back door.
"They're at the back door," Zeke whispers. His breath catches.
Agent Williams nods once, grim. "And they're not leaving."
A chill skates down my spine. Something is about to break, and I'm no longer sure it's the door.
No one speaks as we listen for movement. Zeke stays planted in front of me, tense and ready. Agent Williams hovers near the hallway, watching the dark like he expects it to move. Uncle Donovan paces between the living room and hall, muttering under his breath.
Then something shifts. Not outside but inside the house with us. A presence moves to my side. It doesn't frighten me; it calms me. A soft warmth brushes my shoulder, so familiar it steals the breath from my lungs. It's gentle, achingly tender, and I know that touch before I even turn.
I turn slowly. My mother is standing beside me. Tears flood my eyes so fast they blur her face. She isn't solid the way she was in my dreams. She's light and mist and memory given shape—moonlit and delicate, but unmistakably her. Her face is exactly as I remember it. Her eyes are soft, sad, and full of love. She is still breathtakingly beautiful. My heart surges with love and sadness. Behind her, another figure gathers from the dimness, steadier, brighter, stronger. Her mother, my Grandma.
"Mom," I whisper. "Grandma…" I can't look away. I'm terrified they'll disappear if I blink. Zeke sucks in a breath. Uncle Donovan stumbles back. Agent Williams stares at me, then at the space beside me, as if he can feel them even if he can't fully see them. Mom lifts her hand and touches my shoulder again. Then she gently turns me toward the hallway.
"Follow us," She says gently. Her lips don't move. The words pour straight into my mind, soft as memory and impossible to mistake. Grandma raises her hand and points toward the home office. A cool wind stirs through the hallway, flowing in that direction.
"Rocky," Zeke says, gripping my hand. "What's happening?"
"It's my mom and grandma." My voice shakes, but only from awe now. "They want us to follow them. Right now."
"Then we go," Agent Williams says. He trusted what I told him completely after everything he had witnessed within this house.
I don't hesitate. I follow the glow of them down the hallway. The shadows on the walls pull back from their light like smoke chased from a flame.
We step into the office. Everything looks normal—the desk, the shelves, the filing cabinet—as if the world outside this room isn't cracking apart. I yank open the desk drawer and grab the bag of paperwork I left there, pressing it to my chest.
Mom and Grandma both point to the top right drawer. I pull it open. Inside is my grandfather's cigar box.
"That's it?" Uncle Donovan asks. "They want you to smoke a cigar?" I look at him like he has grown two heads.
"No," I say, shaking my head at him. My attention gets drawn back to my mom as she taps the desk in front of me.
"Open it, sweetheart," Mom says into my mind. I lift the lid. Inside are a few old cigars and a cutter. "Move them," mom tells me. I nod as my hands shake, and I lift the cigars out of the box and set them in the drawer above. A red button is hidden beneath them. My breath catches. "Push it," Mom says.
I look once at everyone else, then press it. A mechanical groan rumbles under our feet. The center of the floor rises, splitting open to reveal a hidden staircase. For a second, all of us just stare.
"You've got to be kidding me," Uncle Donovan says.
"It's a hidden door," Agent Williams says, already crouching beside it, fingers running along the edge.
Grandma nods at me. Mom's voice reaches for me again. "Hurry, sweetheart. They're almost inside." The opening finishes widening, revealing a narrow staircase dropping into darkness.
"You okay?" Zeke asks quietly.
I nod. "They want us down there now."
Agent Williams doesn't waste another second. He goes first, gun drawn. Uncle Donovan follows close behind. Zeke and I go after them. Inside the stairwell, I find another button and press it. Above us, the floor begins sliding shut, sealing the opening behind us. Mom and Grandma drift after us like guardians.
At the bottom, the stairs open into a large underground room. I stop short. This isn't some cramped crawlspace or escape tunnel. It's bigger than I expected, with reinforced walls, shelves lined with old supplies, a metal table, and a whole wall of surveillance monitors. They're older models, grainy and black-and-white, but every one of them is live.
"What the hell…" Zeke breathes.
"This looks like an old fallout shelter," Agent Williams says. "Somebody built this a long time ago."
"Look," Uncle Donovan says, pointing at the screens.
We move to the monitors. The feeds show the exterior of the house—the front yard, the driveway, the back door, and the road. Hidden cameras. Cameras we never installed. On one screen, two men in dark clothes stand near the second vehicle. On another, a third circles the house, working at doors and windows with growing frustration.
Then the man by the front door smashes the window beside him and reaches inside. The lock gives. The front door swings open. He signals the others, and all three men rush inside. My stomach drops.
Then I remember the camera app on my phone. I yank it up with shaking fingers and pull up our live feed. The men move through the rooms fast—the living room, the kitchen, upstairs, back down again. Then they turn toward the office.
And the house turns on them. The wind hits first. It blasts through the hallway so hard it throws the men off their feet. One slams into the wall. Another tries to get up and gets knocked down again. The pictures rip free from the walls. Furniture scrapes across the floor. Papers spin through the air. The men's faces change in an instant—from focused to terrified.
Zeke comes up beside me. Uncle Donovan and Agent Williams move in close, all of us staring at the screen. The wind intensifies, twisting through the room like something alive. The office door flies open. A chair lifts and crashes sideways. One of the men throws his arms over his head as debris starts pelting the walls around him.
Then the front door swings open on its own. A violent gust tears through the house and hurls all three men out onto the porch. The house was removing the trash for us. The door slams shut behind them. For one stunned beat, none of us moves.
Then Uncle Donovan lets out a half-laugh of disbelief. "Well," he says faintly, "our family does not play."
We rush to the exterior monitors. The men scramble backward, looking at each other, then at the house. Even through the grainy footage, their panic is obvious. A second later, they bolt for their vehicles. Headlights cut through the fog. Then both cars tear down the road and disappear. Relief washes over me.
"They're leaving," Zeke says, letting out a shaky breath.
"They'll regroup," Agent Williams explains. "But for now, we're safe."
I turn. Mom and Grandma stand together near the foot of the stairs, their forms flickering softly. Mom's eyes are full of love and grief. Grandma's gaze is steady, proud.
"Thank you," I whisper.
Mom reaches for my hand. Her fingers pass through mine, but warmth still spreads through my chest. Then both of them begin to fade, dissolving into soft light that drifts upward and disappears.
"Rocky," Zeke says, wrapping an arm around me.
"I'm okay," I whisper, though tears are already burning my eyes. "They saved us."
"They did more than that," Agent Williams says. "They bought us valuable time."
Uncle Donovan wipes at his face. "We should call Andy. Let him know what's going on."
"Yeah," Zeke says, pulling out his phone. "He's going to lose his mind." As he dials, I keep staring at the place where my mother and grandmother stood. The veil isn't just watching anymore. It's protecting us.