16.4

Hammering at the door caused the brevity to vanish faster than virginity in a church choir. Paul looked at Roisin, as if undecided whether to stop her answering or answer it himself. He needn’t have worried. Lessons learned during two encounters made her less vulnerable to the third. “She made an exaggerated whisper, moving her mouth slowly and widely, so he could understand by the shapes her mouth made: “What do we do?”

Paul shrugged. "It could just be my delivery."

Steve appeared at the doorway, his fingers over his lips in a shushing expression, then raised a hand to convey that they should stay where they were. He turned away just as the frantic hammering began again, making Roisin jump, despite the expectation of it.

The silence that followed was worse — a thick, waiting quiet that pressed against the walls, the floorboards, Roisin’s skin as despite Steve’s request, she tiptoed out of the kitchen to the corner from which she could observe the top of the stairs. Steve stood perfectly still, his body angled between her and the door, his breath shallow but controlled.

Roisin felt the pull inside her chest pulse once, then settle into a low, steady vibration. It wasn’t painful. It was… attentive. As though something inside her were listening to the same silence Steve was.

Then—

A voice.

“Roisin?”

This time it was the assistant.

Her voice was thin, breathless, trembling in a way no mimicry could imitate. The sound of someone who had run too far, too fast, through a night that wasn’t empty.

Steve didn’t move.

Roisin whispered, “It’s really her.”

Steve said nothing, but showed her his palm in a plea for her to stay back.

The assistant knocked again — not the measured, unnatural rhythm from earlier, but a frantic, uneven tapping. “Roisin, please. I know you’re there. Something’s wrong.”

Roisin stepped forward.

Steve blocked her with an arm. “Wait.”

Roisin stared at him. “Steve, she’s terrified.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m being careful, but she’s still a Hollow, despite appearances.”

The assistant’s voice cracked. “Please. I don’t want to be out here.”

Steve listened — not to her words, but to the air around them. Roisin could see it in his posture, the way his shoulders tensed, the way his eyes narrowed slightly, as though he were trying to hear beneath the raging surface of her voice.

Finally, he said, “Ask her something only she would know.”

Roisin swallowed. “Like what?”

“Something from tonight,” Steve murmured. “Something the presence wouldn’t have heard.”

Roisin stepped closer to the door. “What did you say to me when we left the gallery?”

A pause.

Then the assistant whispered, “I said you shouldn’t go back.”

Steve nodded. “Good. Keep going.”

Roisin pressed her palm to the door. “There was no flow of fragments this time, not in either direction, Part of her was relieved. “What did you tell me about the woman who had a heart attack?”

Another pause — longer this time.

Then: “That she wasn’t looking at the painting. She was looking through it, and whatever she saw brought her great joy.”

Steve exhaled. “It’s her.”

He removed the piece of brick jamming the door closed and pulled open the door.

The assistant stumbled inside, breathless, hair plastered to her forehead, coat half‑slipped off one shoulder. She slammed the door shut behind her and pressed her back against it, chest heaving.

Roisin rushed to her. “What happened?”

The assistant shook her head, eyes wide, pupils blown with fear. “I don’t know. I don’t know. Something followed me.”

Steve stiffened. “Describe it.”

“I didn’t see it,” she whispered. “I only heard it. Footsteps. But not… not right. Too slow. Too even. Like it was matching mine.”

Roisin felt a brief tug inside her chest, but this time it was a pressure from the outside; less of a chestburster wanting to get out, but a mouth trying to suck something in..

The assistant continued, voice trembling. “And then the streetlights started flickering. Not all of them — just the ones I walked under. Like they were reacting to me.”

Steve exchanged a look with Roisin. “It wasn’t reacting to you.”

The assistant swallowed. “Then who?”

Steve turned to Roisin. “Her.”

Roisin felt the cold settle deeper into her bones. “Me?”

Steve nodded. “You’ve been exposed. It’s drawing things toward you.”

The assistant stared at Roisin, horror dawning slowly. “You brought it out of the gallery.”

Roisin shook her head. “No, of course not. The gallery brought it out of me.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” the assistant whispered. “But you’re in danger.”