at you are." Luke slowly reached for the doorknob. "Don't," Anna whispered. He paused, turning to her. "What if someone's hurt?" "No one comes here by accident," she said. "And no one should know w

eaking the blood means letting it end," she said. "No heirs. No continuation." Luke blinked. "So... if one of us dies, it breaks the bloodline?" "No." Anna's voice dropped. "If both of us die." Luke backed away from the journal like it was radioactive. "You're telling me this thing-this curse-it needs us alive?" Anna nodded. "Alive. Suffering. Feeding it." Luke's face turned pale. "And what happens if the bloodline ends?" Anna didn't answer. But deep down, she already knew. If the curse couldn't feed on its chosen bloodline... it would lash out. Escape. Spread. Just then, the sound of glass shattering rang through the house. They both spun around. "The upstairs window," Anna whispered. Luke didn't wait. He grabbed the flashlight and headed for the stairs. Anna followed close behind, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. The hallway upstairs was freezing. The air smelled like burnt iron. One of the bedroom doors was slightly open, a faint red glow leaking through the crack. Luke pushed the door open. The window was broken-shards of glass scattered across the floor. But what froze them in place was what lay in the middle of the room. A dead crow. Its wings were twisted unnaturally, its feathers soaked in black blood. And carved into the wooden floor beneath it, in deep, jagged letters, was a single word: "RETURN." Anna's throat felt dry. "What does it want us to return?" Luke