Rain hammered the streets outside as the door to the antique shop creaked open again.
Lucien Blackwood didn't need to look up immediately to know who it was.
He had been expecting him.
Still, when he finally lifted his gaze, his dark eyes settled on Jamie with quiet certainty—and something else beneath it. Not surprise. Not curiosity.
Recognition.
Jamie stood at the entrance, soaked through, breathing unevenly like a man who hadn't slept in days. His clothes clung to him, his hair messy, his face pale. But what stood out most were his eyes—bloodshot, hollow, carrying the weight of something that had already broken him once.
Lucien studied him for a second.
No wife this time.
Which meant one thing.
Lisa was dead.
Even knowing how things would unfold, Lucien felt a faint, almost imperceptible sigh rise in his chest. Fate, once set into motion, rarely waited for anyone.
"I'm sorry…"
Jamie's voice came out hoarse, rushed, like he was afraid he might lose the chance to speak if he hesitated.
"I know this is strange, but… I need to apologize. For before."
Lucien leaned back slightly in his chair and waved it off with a small motion.
"It's fine," he said calmly, gesturing toward the seat across from him. "Sit. You look like you need it."
Jamie didn't argue. He dropped into the chair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight. For a moment, he just sat there in silence, like he was trying to gather the pieces of his thoughts.
Then he looked up.
"You… knew, didn't you?"
Lucien didn't answer immediately. Instead, he observed him—really observed him.
Exhaustion. Fear. Grief. And underneath all that… clarity.
Jamie wasn't broken.
Not yet.
That alone made him far more dangerous—and far more useful—than most people caught in something like this.
Lucien gave a small nod.
"I had a feeling."
That was enough.
Jamie exhaled sharply, like a dam had cracked open.
"When I got home… there was a package. No return address. Inside… there was a doll."
His hands trembled slightly.
"At first, it didn't mean anything. Just some creepy thing. But then I left for a bit, and when I came back…"
He stopped.
His jaw tightened.
"My wife was dead."
The words hung heavy in the air.
Lucien didn't interrupt.
Jamie swallowed hard before continuing.
"I don't know how to explain it. The police don't believe me. They think I did it. But I know… I know something else is behind this."
His eyes locked onto Lucien's.
"I need your help."
There it was.
Not desperation alone—but trust.
Interesting.
Lucien tapped his fingers lightly against the table, thinking for a moment before speaking.
"I can help you," he said finally. "But understand something first—this isn't charity."
Jamie nodded immediately.
"I don't care what it costs."
Good.
At least that part would be simple.
Lucien stood.
"Then let's not waste time. We're going to your apartment."
—
The drive was long, quiet at first, the sound of rain filling the silence between them.
Eventually, Jamie began talking again—this time in detail.
Everything.
The package. The doll. The voice he thought was Lisa calling him. The moment he walked in… and found her body.
Lucien listened without interrupting, piecing everything together with practiced ease.
When Jamie finally finished, he asked the question that had been bothering him.
"Why do you want to go back there? To that doll?"
Lucien didn't answer directly.
"Do you believe in ghosts?"
Jamie hesitated—but only for a second.
"…I do now."
Lucien gave a faint nod.
"Then you should also believe that sometimes, the stories people tell—nursery rhymes, old warnings—aren't just stories."
Jamie frowned slightly, thinking.
"You mean… that rhyme?"
Lucien's voice stayed calm.
"Based on what you told me, and what happened… the entity you're dealing with is likely attached to that doll."
Jamie's grip tightened on the steering wheel.
"That thing…"
"Yes," Lucien said simply. "And if we want answers, we start there."
That made sense.
But something else still bothered Jamie.
"How did you know? Back at the shop?"
Lucien leaned back slightly, gaze drifting toward the rain-streaked window.
"In some traditions," he said casually, "people can read more than just faces. Patterns. Signs. Things others miss."
It wasn't entirely a lie.
Just… simplified.
"You and your wife were already marked. Anyone paying attention could see it."
Jamie let out a quiet breath.
"I thought you were just… guessing."
Lucien's lips curved faintly.
"I don't guess."
Silence followed after that.
But it wasn't empty.
It was heavy—with realization.
—
The apartment was exactly as Lucien expected.
Police tape still hung loosely across the entrance, but no one was guarding it anymore. The case had already gone cold.
They stepped inside.
The smell hit immediately.
Iron. Stale. Lingering.
Blood.
Jamie stiffened, but forced himself forward.
Lucien's gaze swept the room calmly, taking in every detail.
The dried stains on the floor. The disturbed furniture. The unnatural stillness that clung to the air.
And then—
The doll.
Sitting quietly in the corner.
Dressed neatly. Perfectly crafted. Almost lifelike.
Too lifelike.
Lucien's eyes narrowed slightly.
There it is.
"Su… I mean—" Jamie caught himself awkwardly. "Lucien… that's it."
Lucien walked over without hesitation.
Jamie picked it up instinctively, like he didn't quite realize what he was holding.
"What now?"
Lucien's answer was simple.
"Burn it."
Jamie blinked.
"…What?"
But Lucien had already stepped forward, taking the doll from his hands.
The moment his fingers touched it—
Cold.
Not just temperature.
Something deeper.
Something wrong.
A faint, crawling sensation slid up his arm, like something unseen had just noticed him.
Lucien ignored it.
He walked straight into the kitchen and turned on the gas stove.
Behind him—
Jamie froze.
Because something had changed.
The doll.
Its head had moved.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Its eyes were now fixed directly on Lucien.
And no one had touched it.
"Lucien…" Jamie's voice shook.
But something was wrong with the sound.
Too loud.
Too sharp.
And then he realized—
It wasn't his voice getting louder.
Everything else was disappearing.
The rain.
The thunder.
The wind outside.
All of it faded… until nothing remained.
Silence.
Absolute.
Complete.
Jamie's heartbeat pounded in his ears.
A cold dread crawled up his spine.
He didn't need anyone to tell him.
He knew.
She was here.
Lucien, however—
Didn't stop.
Didn't turn.
Didn't react.
As if the silence meant nothing.
As if the thing watching them… didn't matter at all.
He simply reached for the flame.
And in that moment—
The game truly began.