Page 60 of Where The Devil Kneels

I gather what matters — blueprints, the oldest journals, the formal agreement — and slide everything else back into the trunk. The lock clicks under my thumb and I find myself tracing her initials again. AEH. I think about Grandma differently now. Her quiet afternoons alone in this house. The way she'd pat the banister. All those cryptic comments about the right person inheriting someday.

I thought she was just a lonely old woman hiding from the world. She was carrying a torch I didn’t know existed until now.

I head down from the attic, arms full, lantern bumping my leg. The house talks around me differently now. Every creak feels like a word. Like the walls have been waiting for me to finally get it.

The library goes quiet the second I walk in. Maeve’s wearing a path in the floor near the busted window — the one Jonah patched with what looks like cling wrap and half a roll of duct tape. Both their heads snap toward me. Maeve’s trying not to look terrified and failing. Jonah can’t take his eyes off the blueprints. Dr. Rao’s gone, probably with Silas. Just as well.

“What the hell took you so long?” Maeve demands, arms crossed so tightly across her chest, I wonder if she’s trying to physically hold herself together. “We’re running out of time. Garrow’s men are setting up floodlights. They’re bringing in more vehicles.”

I don’t answer immediately.Typical Maeve,I think,demanding responses when I’m trying to process life-altering revelations.I move to the central table and sweep aside shards of glass with my forearm, ignoring her impatient huffing behind me.Let her stew for once.I spread the blueprints first, anchoring the corners with books and then arranged the journals in order beside them.

“The real blueprints,” I say. “Everything they never wanted on record.” I trace our location on the page and tap the symbol above it. “See this? That’s the sprinkler system that just kept us from burning alive. And it’s barely the start.”

Jonah approaches cautiously, professional curiosity overriding his wariness. “These are incredible,” he murmurs, leaning over the detailed diagrams. “I’ve never seen anything like this in a residential building.”

“This place was never just a house,” I say, flipping open a journal. “It’s a sanctuary. A safe house. People in serious trouble could disappear here — especially when that trouble had the Garrow name on it.”

I turn the journal toward them, my finger landing on three entries: 1943, three families escaping Garrow’s grandfather; 1967, the east wing modified for medical equipment; 1992, Silas’s father maintaining the sanctuary during my grandmother’s time.

“My family built this place to hide people. The Hales were always the front — owned the deed, paid the taxes, kept up appearances. The Merricks lived in the walls and kept watch. They knew every floorboard, every hidden door. Nobody who came here looking for safety ever got found.”

Maeve stares at the documents. “This is insane,” she whispers. “You actually believe this… this fantasy? That your inheritance comes with a built-in watchdog who lives in your walls?”

I slap the formal agreement. “It’s not a fantasy, it’s a covenant. Written in Grandma’s handwriting — the woman who actually owned this place before me, unlike you, who’s never owned anything here except opinions nobody asked for.” I slide it toward her. “Read it yourself, if you can shut up long enough.”

Maeve’s face contorts, her voice rising with each word. “And you’re what, just going to pick up where she left off? Continue this family tradition of harbouring some obsessive recluse in your walls? He’s been watching you sleep, Elara. Following you through the house. A man who hasn’t spoken to another human being in what? Years? Decades? And you’re defending him because of some ancient agreement written on paper that’s older than both of us combined?”

Jonah shifts. “Ms. Hale, I understand these documents look convincing. But I have to raise concerns about Mr. Merrick’s psychological state.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Long-term isolation does things to people. Distorted perspectives. Paranoia. Obsessive behaviour.”

“Distorted perspectives?” I repeat, a harsh laugh escaping me. “You’ve seen Garrow’s ritual circle in the foyer. You’ve documented his connection to disappearances across town. You were ready to arrest him this morning, and now you’re questioning Silas’s grip on reality?”

“I’m questioning entrusting your safety, your life, to someone who’s lived in secret passages for most of his adult life,” Jonah clarifies, his expression genuinely concerned. “Someone who, by his own admission, has been watching you without your knowledge since you inherited this property.”

“He was doing his job,” I insist, frustration building behind my sternum like steam in a pressure cooker. “The job my family created for his family generations ago.”

Maeve makes a sound of pure exasperation. “Listen to yourself. You sound unhinged. This man has convinced you that stalking is protection and trespassing is a sacred duty.” She grabs my arm. “We need to get you out of here. And he needs professional help. Psychiatric evaluation at minimum.”

Something snaps inside me, a final thread of patience stretching beyond its breaking point. I pull my arm from her grasp and draw myself up to my full height, meeting her gaze without flinching.

“I trust Silas far more than I can trust you in this moment,” I say, each word crystal clear in the sudden silence. “You’ve been trying to get me to abandon this place since the day I arrived.”

Maeve recoils as if physically struck, but I continue, years of accumulated frustration finally finding voice.

“You had me sedated and committed when I told you about him. You were ready to sell my inheritance to the very man who’s now trying to burn it down with us inside. You’ve treated every decision I’ve made since my grandmother died as evidence of mental instability rather than legitimate choice.”

My hands flatten against the blueprints. “Silas protected me, even when it meant his silence while I cursed at shadows. You?” I meet Maeve’s gaze directly. “You’ve treated me like a perpetual teenager since my parents died, incapable of a single independent thought.”

The library seems to grow quieter with each word, as if the very walls are listening to this long-overdue confrontation.

“Elara, please,” Maeve whispers, something crumbling in her perfect facade. “I’ve only ever wanted to keep you safe.”

My hands slam down on the table, sending papers scattering. “You’ve dictated what I wear, who I see, what medication I take, all while calling my experiences delusions!” My voice cracks as years of suppressed rage finally erupt. “You didn’t protect me, Maeve. You fucking colonized me. You planted your flag in my mind and claimed every inch as your territory.”

I pick up the agreement. “This house is mine. Not just the walls and roof, but what it stands for. And Silas belongs here, too. Our families decided that a long time ago. I’m not changing it because you think it’s weird.”

Maeve stands frozen, fingers trembling at her collarbone. “You can’t be serious. You’re throwing away your future, your safety, for this crumbling mansion and a man who lives in its walls?”

The question just sits there between us.