Sylvia stepped out of the shower and slipped into the guest room''s bathrobe.


    She paused, surprised to find it was a men''s robe-long and almost dragging on the floor.


    Weird, she thought. Thest time she''d visited, she hadn''t really paid attention to the details of the house. Now, looking around, she realized there was absolutely no sign of Bridget''s life here. Actually, there wasn''t even a hint that any other woman had ever stayed over.


    Had Bridget never actually lived here at all?


    Puzzled, Sylvia crawled into bed. The downforter fluffy as a cloud- immediately stole her attention, cocooning her in warmth.


    God, this is nice.


    She rolled over, closed her eyes, and tried to let herself drift off. But, like always in a new ce, sleep wouldn''te. She tossed and turned, finally resorting to counting stars in her head.


    She had no idea how many imaginary stars she''d counted when, suddenly, she heard the unmistakable crash of a ss hitting the floor in the room next door.


    Seriously? Again?


    Sylvia let out a huff, yanked the covers over her head, and tried to ignore it. There was no way a grown man could get himself into real trouble in his own home-she wasn''t buying it.


    But after a few minutes, the silence felt... odd. Too quiet.


    She poked her head out from under the nket, staring at the ceiling, straining to hear any sound. Nothing. Not even a creak.


    He didn''t actually pass out, did he?


    Chris''s words echoed in her head, and despite her reluctance, Sylvia slid out of bed and hurried next door, knocking on the door.


    "Uncle Rupert? Uncle Rupert, are you okay?"


    No answer.


    "Uncle Rupert, I''ming in."


    She pushed the door open cautiously.


    The room was pitch ck. Only a thin line of light from the hallway spilled in. It felt like walking into a vault.


    Sylvia fumbled for a light switch, but found nothing. Letting her eyes adjust, she crept further inside.


    She bumped into the edge of the bed, then followed the edge with her hand. Suddenly, her palm met something burning hot. It took her a second to realize she''d just touched Rupert himself.


    She jerked her hand back, frozen for a moment.


    Weird. She''d been in the room for a while now-howe he hadn''t noticed?


    Rupert was usually hyper-aware of everything around him. Even without Orson, he was practically a one-man security team. There was no way he wouldn''t have noticed her.


    Sylvia''s hand felt sticky. That can''t be right.


    Worried now, she knelt by the bed and finally found themp on the nightstand, flicking it on.


    The sudden light made her squint,


    but once her eyes adjusted, she saw


    him: Rupert, lying t, brow


    furrowed, muscles tense and glistening with cold sweat. Even his


    pillow was soaked through.


    His fists were clenched so tightly that blood was seeping between his knuckles.


    Sylvia had seen something like this


    before, ages ago-a neighbor kid


    had night terrors, jerking and


    twitching in bed like he was possessed. Sometimes he''d bang himself up pretty badly.


    The old folks called it being "ridden by a nightmare."


    Sylvia tried to pry Rupert''s bloody hand open, but just then, his voice-hoarse and


    strained—cut through the silence above her.


    "Sylvia..."


    She froze, wondering if she''d misheard.


    Again, he mumbled, "Sylvia."


    Before she could react, Rupert''s hand shot out and grabbed hers, yanking her


    forward. She stumbled and fell onto the bed.


    She tried to push up, but he was already on top of her, pinning her down.


    "Sylvia."


    He opened his eyes slowly, sweat-damp hair falling messily over his forehead. His


    gaze was impossibly dark and deep, locking onto hers.


    Under themp''s glow, their eyes met. Sylvia''s heart skipped a beat, a strange, indescribable feeling blooming in her chest.


    For a split second, she thought she


    saw another version of Rupert-one from another life, maybe. He''d looked at her the same way: intense,plicated, as if he had a thousand things to say, but in the end, there was only silence.


    Sylvia furrowed her brow, just about to speak, when Rupert broke the quiet first.


    "You okay?"


    "Uncle Rupert, you were having a nightmare. I''m fine, but you need to let me go." Rupert let out a shaky breath, clearly relieved. "Good. Just making sure."


    Sylvia had no idea what he was talking about. All she knew was that he was way too close, and she could barely breathe.