Bela's heels dug into the thawing snow, causing the muddy ground to shift underfoot. It made the current ordeal of running for her life all the more difficult.

Her pulse leapt a mile a minute, throbbing up into her earlobes, competing with the sound of her heels sinking into the damp, slushing ground. Her heart ached with each beat crashing into her tight chest. She took in shaky breaths as her frantic eyes zipped across her surroundings, and her ears strained in the effort to pick up the slightest of sounds – she could hear the wind whistling, birds chirping, and even a distant hare burrowing into the snowy ground.

The forest was always dark at this time of the morning. The sun had yet to crest over the mountain ridge, and darkness was all that enveloped the valley. It took a conscious effort to step over the low overgrowth of exposed roots, and avoid getting her dress snagged by the thickets. Her mud-caked dress already had a collection of fresh tears and stains thanks to far too many tumbles in the dark.

"How much farther?" Ethan's voice arose from behind Bela in an alarmed whisper.

Bela glanced back at the man. Apprehension clouded his face as he tucked Rose close to his chest in a secure bundle of blankets. He licked his dry lips and said, "She's not far behind us."

"We are nearly there, I promise." Bela tried to sound certain for Ethan's sake – but the quiver in her own voice was unmistakable as it pierced the enveloping silence. Bela was increasingly aware that the ambient sounds of the forest – the waking birds, the freshly risen hares, and even the wind itself – had all been snuffed out. She motioned to the unseen, winding path between the trees which towered high overhead. "Come, quickly."

No sooner did the words leave her mouth when a soft, sadistic giggle pierced the stillness of the forest.

Bela hardly recognized her own strangled voice when she exclaimed, "Run!"

Her wild, frantic eyes searched the tree line as she launched herself forward on stiff legs.

But it was to little avail.

Each step put them through the increasingly thick squelch of melting snow and sticky mud. Her muscles tensed and strained to push off the ground and propel herself forth. She was slow and heavy, and no amount of brute force helped Bela pick up speed to save their lives.

Bela only had time to glance back at Ethan before it was too late.

His sweater had snagged on a thorny bush. With one hand securing Rose, he used his other to try and free himself.

Then a dark blur swooped by. Crimson sprayed the filthy snow with a sickening splatter. Ethan dropped hard behind the bush.

A choked scream was caught in Bela's throat, and the sound died there. Her foot dug into a twisted root, and she went crashing to the ground. Rose's heart-wrenching cries grew audible from behind the bush as Bela struggled to turn and face their assailant.

Tears prickled Bela's eyes as a razor-sharp sickle glinted in the light of the first rays of morning sun.

The blade swung down, and Rose cried no more.

Bela turned to grab the tree behind her for support – or to avoid seeing firsthand the mangled remains of Ethan's daughter.

She was barely back up on two feet by the time a hand gripped her shoulder and forcibly spun her around.

Bela was met with the figure – a dark dress, pale white skin marked by a tattoo on her forehead, and blonde hair matted with fresh blood.

With sickeningly white, pearly teeth, and a deranged smile, Strigoaica Bălaie cooed, "Where are you going, little one?"

The last thing Bela felt was a fist smashing into her chest, through her ribs, and clean out the back.


Bela awoke with a gasp.

She sat upright, blinking the hot tears from her eyes. Her hands seized fistfuls of the thick comforter – tight enough to rip the fabric. It took several excruciating moments to blink her room into focus as the dampness swirled in her vision. The ringing in her ears blocked out all sound, save for her untenable pulse. Ample time passed before the crack of the fireplace could be heard over the droning in her ears, which always competed with the wild pulse of her blood.

That's when Bela made out the soft voice to her side.

"Bela."

As softly as her name had filled the air, she flinched just the same, recoiling and tensing.

And then eyes of cool grey met hers, defusing the mounting dread.

Ethan sat to her left, one hand hanging in the air – hesitating to reach out to her. His brows were pitched in concern, and those deep eyes she adored were boring into her.

Right. Just a dream. A terrible dream.

Bela pulled in a shaky breath to try and steady herself; she could not help it either way, and promptly looked the man up and down for any signs of injury. He had none, of course. No mud staining his clothes, no blood coating his handsome face, and no innards spilling out from his stomach. Ethan was as Bela had left him last night. The only signs remotely pointing to duress were his messy bedhead, and the healing bruise under his eye.

The relief in her heart formed words, and they tumbled right out of her lips, "You're okay."

Confusion crossed Ethan's face for just a beat, but he nodded. "Yeah. I am."

Ethan scooted closer, and Bela all but threw herself at the man. Her arms came to wrap around Ethan. She buried her face into his shirt, snuggling him tight as she looped one leg around his. Strong arms soon came to hold Bela, and she promptly melted into Ethan's embrace

It was a good thing Ethan had the foresight to wait until she calmed down before reaching out. There was some bitter irony to the knowledge it was probably because of his and Mia's own trauma that Ethan knew to give her space upon waking. When freshly woken from the throes of her nightmares, Bela could not guarantee Ethan's safety. In the heat of the moment, she could have easily swiped his way out of instinct and panic alike. Hurting Ethan was the last thing she wanted to do.

Another shuddering breath slipped free when Ethan pressed his lips to Bela's hair. His husky voice was smooth as butter, whispering, "I've got you."

Bela held him tighter. The relief mingled with the visceral emotion of being cared for – wrapped up in the arms of someone to whom she mattered, even after everything – even if she wholly believed she did not deserve it. It was nearly enough to bring the tears back in full force. But Bela remained steadfast as the seconds slowly turned to minutes. Her heartbeat steadied itself, and the lingering dread receded and dissipated.

"Must've been some dream, huh?" Ethan's quiet voice came as a soft grumble.

Bela squeezed his midsection, her face still burrowed against his shirt. She whispered, "An awful one."

"You're okay, tapeworm." Ethan planted a kiss to the top of her head, and that was all it took to send her emotions haywire all over again – just when she thought she had gotten her act together. Bela sniffled, eyes shut tight in the hopes of keeping the tears from spilling out. "You're safe, you're with me – you got nothing to worry about, okay?"

Bela wished that were true. She wished to the high heavens that would remain true for the foreseeable future.

In this valley, the concept of safety never lasted for long. Miranda was reigning as a cruel pagan prophet, decreeing that the Black God was always in need of fresh subjects (or sacrifices for experiments, if that woman had a shred of honesty). Karl was building his secret army in his underground foundry. There was no telling how safe any of them would be when this cold war grew decisively hot.

There was plenty to worry about. You did not even have to leave the castle and bring Karl into this to find something to stew over. Cassandra and how Bela 'owed her one' was enough cause for concern. The inevitability of her mother questioning all the time Bela spent with Ethan was cause for concern. There were many causes of concern in her home.

The tormented, bloody past that haunted Bela was just the icing on the rotten cake – the flies which swirled around the mound of shit that was her life. And of course, now her mind decided it was the perfect time to bring that anxiety and guilt back up to the surface. Just when she had gotten a break, sleeping so blissfully in Ethan's warm embrace, her psyche sought to break the peace.

She shouldn't be too surprised, if she really thought about it. Bela had long since established that peace and happiness were not things she deserved. Not since her time as a ravenous, bloodthirsty monster. She could not just bury that past in a shallow grave and try to move on to a happy life. No grave was deep enough to bury all her sins of the past. It was foolish to even try. That was what made telling Ethan the whole, bloody truth all the more important.

Bela sighed into Ethan's shirt, centering herself on the sensation of his fingers stroking her bare shoulder. It appeared that day of revelations would come sooner rather than later. Her conscience would not let her rest until Ethan – the kind soul to so graciously accept her for who she was – knew the truth. Until Ethan knew the extent of her litany of sins, these nightmares would continue to torment her. Bela was sure of it. She could only hope he would be able to understand. Bela herself could hardly reconcile her monstrous past.

Fifty-something years were a lot to summarize, so Bela would tell Ethan when she was ready. She would prepare, privately grapple with the monster that was her past, and then she would lay all her cards on the table. If Ethan wanted to be involved with her, then he had to know, or else it would all be a sham. Ethan's feelings would be based on nothing but the best foot she had been able to put forward, and not the complete picture. Ethan had to know of the emotional scars Bela had carved into her siblings, and the endless trail of broken bodies she had left, or else his feelings would mean nothing.

"Do you wanna talk about that dream?" Ethan rubbed a hand up and down Bela's back.

"I…"

'I lost you and Rose,' was on the tip of Bela's tongue – but neither of them were Bela's to lose.

"You know how they say you cannot outrun the past?" Bela settled on remaining ambiguous. At Ethan's hum, she continued, "My dream was a rather literal interpretation of that."

The psychotic smile, the predatory yellow eyes devoid of humanity, the blonde hair matted with crimson – it was the last thing that countless people had ever seen in their lives. Simply thinking about it brought another shiver down Bela's spine.

Ethan appeared to consider her words for a moment before remarking, "I guess that's why you gotta make peace with the past. Accept it, or else it'll just keep chasing you."

Bela's past did more than just chase her, but Ethan was right. Knowing nothing but the bare basics, Ethan was as insightful as ever. He banished the tension from Bela's frame with every stroke running up her arm and down along her back.

Bela had been running for years now. She had spent an entire decade trying to pretend the woman she was today was not Strigoaica Bălaie – that her hands, which had saved countless lives so long ago, were not the same hands that snuffed out hundreds of lives for House Dimitrescu. Bela did not have the slightest clue how to begin coming to terms with it all – reconciling these different parts of her life. But there was comfort in knowing she had Ethan by her side as she worked through it. Even if her staggering death toll may be what finally pushes him away (and she would not blame him if that were to happen), at least, in that fateful moment, she would have his support.

Maybe a week or two. It would hopefully be enough time to get her thoughts in order, gather the courage to lay it all out to Ethan, and bring it up when the time was right.

She ought to order another bottle of palincă from the Duke. Perhaps two, just in case.

Ethan lifted his head from atop Bela's, and it took her a moment to realize he was peeking at her bedside clock. Bela did the same, finding that morning was well underway. Nightmare aside, she had apparently slept quite soundly.

Who could blame her? Ethan was a delightful bedmate.

Slowly (and rather reluctantly), Bela pulled free from Ethan's arms. She straightened up into sitting, combing a hand through her messy hair. "I best be off. Breakfast preparations are in order, and I must make myself presentable."

Ethan nodded, glancing once towards the door leading out. Bela picked up on the silent question, answering, "I am not sure if mother has finally returned. If she has, then I will not be able to join you for breakfast," She flashed a quick, apologetic smile, "I will have a servant bring your meal."

"Thanks," Ethan scrubbed the sleepiness from his eyes, similarly pulling himself up into a sitting position. He tilted his head towards the door. "Don't let me keep you."

If it were up to Bela, she would simply climb on top of Ethan and collapse onto him like a limp noodle. Pull the comforter up so they were bundled up tight and pressed together; she could imagine nothing she wanted more than cozying up in Ethan's embrace.

Well – she could imagine climbing on top of Ethan and doing other things to him entirely, but that was neither here nor there at the moment.

Bela cleared her throat and averted her eyes. She pulled her legs out from beneath the sheets, and made to stand up; the less Ethan saw her flushed face, the better. For now, she just had to freshen up, then proceed to the kitchens.

No sooner had Bela gotten to her feet when Ethan called to her, "Hey."

Bela paused, one hand combing through her still messy hair. "Yes?"

Ethan had gotten onto his knees, shuffling across the bed to get closer to her. She watched him curiously, up until he settled a hand on her waist. "Almost forgot." Ethan leaned in to press a quick kiss to her cheek. His voice was warm in her ear and still husky from sleep when he whispered, "Good morning."

It got a breathy laugh from Bela, the air having been effectively sucked right out of her lungs.

She knew she was grinning like an idiot when she squeezed his arm and mumbled back, almost shyly, "Good morning, puppy."

This man was treading dangerous water. If he kept this up, she could not be held liable for the scratches she would undoubtedly leave in her hurry to tear his shirt off. The longer Ethan smiled up at her with that goofy, adorably lopsided smile of his, the more Bela was tempted to say, 'fuck breakfast.' Who needed Frigănele when Ethan was on her bed, looking like a full course meal?

Bela swallowed the lump in her throat, and promptly turned her own filthy thoughts on Ethan. "Now let me go and stop undressing me with your eyes."

Ethan sputtered out a laugh, sounding just a tad nervous – as if she'd hit her mark. The idea that she wasn't wrong may have excited Bela more than she cared to admit.

"Don't flatter yourself so much." Ethan wore a wry grin, eyes dipping down to her nightgown (which may have been more revealing than she initially thought) for just a beat, "Not like there's much to undress, anyway."

Bela's cheeks had been warm the moment her less-than-chaste thoughts sprung up. Now, they were blazing hot, and Bela was positive she was redder than a ripe tomato. She held onto whatever sense of composure she could cling onto, and gave Ethan a small pat on the cheek, retorting, "Well, keep dreaming, man-thing."

It was the best she could do, lest she be tempted to slip her nightgown off, and allow it to crumple straight to the floor. She'd make Ethan's wildest dreams pale in comparison to reality.

Drawing in a deep breath, Bela stepped back away from Ethan and out of his loose hold on her waist – away, where she did not put too much thought into the things Ethan could do with those big hands of his, as scarred as they might be. Bela cleared her throat and began stepping around the bed. "Anyway, I must excuse myself," She motioned to her face as she walked, "This sort of beauty takes maintenance."

She caught Ethan's eyeroll, and the small smile tugging at his lips.

"What's on our plate today?" Ethan asked.

It just so happened Bela did have something lined up. With one hand on the bathroom door, Bela put on a serious face – even as she bit down the giggle that threatened to pop up. "Now that you mention it, there is something we must tend to."

Ethan watched her, appearing wholly unimpressed with the dramatic pause Bela left.

"A task not for the faint of heart. It will put your abilities to the test." Bela pursed her lips for a beat, "May God have mercy on you, Ethan Winters."


Hours later, Ethan stared at the assortment of brown Ikea boxes leaning against his cell wall; the longer his eyes fixed to their smooth surfaces, the more he felt the unassembled furniture staring back at him.

"This is the," Ethan scoffed, "The test of my abilities you were talking about?" Eyes still fixed to the boxes, his hands came up to form air quotes, "Not for the faint of heart – seriously?"

"Being a handyman is no joke." Bela's decidedly pleased voice resounded from behind him. She soon sidled past him to stand to his right side, allowing them both to take a gander at the boxes.

Judging by the small illustrations affixed to each box, Ethan could make out a bed frame, a desk, and two chairs. Enough furnishings to turn the prison cell into a cozy studio apartment. They even had authentic stone walls to boot – most landlords charged you extra for that sort of hipster aesthetic.

"Why?" The question came out, for lack of any better way to release his befuddlement.

To Bela's credit, she looked sheepish. She tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear as she answered, "It goes without saying you are welcome in my quarters, but… well, I imagine you would enjoy your own privacy and solitude as well. No reason for you to be spending your alone time in uncomfortable conditions."

Ethan gave the boxes another look. "When'd you order these? Did they just arrive?"

"I ordered them quite some time ago, actually," Bela answered, "Before the time we first visited the Duke together. The delivery arrived the same day you had your run-in with Cassandra."

This was weeks in the making. Requested from the Duke around the time Ethan had his window incident with Bela. Their bond had still been in the process of being formed when Bela requisitioned furniture to improve the living conditions in his cell.

It was jarring to try and wrap his head around it. Those days, Ethan had still been scrutinizing Bela's true intentions, and she had been a window away from Ethan condemning her to an icy grave. Meanwhile, Bela had already cared enough to give his cell an upgrade.

Ethan was already smiling when he remarked, a sense of wonder in his voice, "Always lookin' out for me, huh?"

Bela produced a quick hum – as if trying to brush off the gravity of her thoughtfulness. "It is just furniture. Do not be so dramatic."

Well, maybe it was just furniture, but there was more to it than that.

Spending time with Bela – finding sanctuary and comfort in her bedroom – was not something he would even think of giving up. But there was truth to what she had said prior – having his own breathing room was important.

Back when Mia was still around, Ethan had his study. It was little more than a guest room the size of a shoebox, and outfitted with a desk rather than a bed. That room was his little private nook, where his work computer (and gaming rig, if he were being honest) lit up the space; the dance of RGB lights from his computer cast a colorful glow on the Godzilla posters on the wall. AC/DC and Guns N' Roses blared through that small space as much as the sharp clacking of his mechanical keyboard did – and both were therapeutic to his ears.

It's not that Mia was unwelcome in his closet of a room. It's more that Mia respected his need for quiet time with his thoughts. It was the same as how Ethan steered clear of the balcony when Mia was sweating her buns off doing Pilates. Or when she was losing herself in the tranquility of yoga, and the relaxing (and to him, a little eerie) music.

This room – this prison cell – was a far cry from his old nerd cave, but it was invariably his space, and he could breathe and unwind in it to whatever degree possible. All the additional furniture would make that alone time all the more comfortable. Only thing missing now was his computer, and all its flashing lights.

He would have to leave Castle Dimitrescu another 5-star review on Yelp if Bela's excellent accommodations persisted. It was a shame that the entertainment was still shit – unless Cassandra had better, less life-or-death games in store.

"I appreciate it, Bela." Ethan turned to give the blonde in question a quick squeeze of the arm. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Her smile was as dazzling as ever.

Ethan set a hand on one of the larger boxes, peering at the tape keeping it sealed. He gave it a few experimental tugs and found there was no opening the boxes this way, unless he wanted to rip the carboard with his bare hands. "You got a knife or something on you?"

"Actually…" A short pause, and Bela reached into her dress pocket. "I have been meaning to return this to you."

Bela produced a small knife, tucked into a brown leather sheath. Ethan accepted it from her outstretched hand, and it was only her wording that had given him second thought.

Ethan pulled the blade free from the dark sheath. He turned it over in his hands, and the Dimitrescu crest glinted in the warm lamplight. The handle was what made it click for Ethan. It was fashioned from old wood, and shaped to fit snugly in hand. The rivets keeping the handle together were brand new, and carried a bright sheen when hit by the light.

"This is…" Ethan fixed his eyes to the handle and ran his fingers along the grains of wood another time, just to be sure. He'd killed so many lycans with this knife; feeling it in his palm brought a sense of familiarity and comfort alike.

"Your knife," Bela said.

Technically it was that old man's knife, right before lycans gutted him. Ethan didn't quite consider himself the old man's next of kin to be inheriting this knife – but he was in no position to complain, and he doubted there was anyone who wanted this knife back. That man's small knife, and rusty pistol kept Ethan in the fight for nearly an hour before that arrow knocked him flat on his ass. Didn't matter how little range the knife gave him, or how often the LEMI failed to eject brass. They got the job done.

"You, uh," Ethan raised the blade to eye-level, "fixed it up?"

Last Ethan checked, Cassandra nearly jammed that knife into his shoulder, and it bounced off the floor instead. He was fairly sure the attack destroyed the weapon.

"Karl took care of it, and I battle-tested it." Bela gave a mocking bow, complete with a dry smile as she added, "Free of charge, of course."

Ethan crouched down and used the blade to cut away the packaging tape as he asked, "The lycans?"

"Mhm," Bela hummed in confirmation. She stepped closer to hold the box steady as Ethan cut it open. "You can keep that."

The blade nearly slipped in Ethan's hands.

He craned his head up to look at Bela. "The knife?" Once the tape was dealt with, he brought the weapon up for emphasis, "You're letting me keep this?"

Bela averted her eyes. She focused on pulling the current box to the side, giving Ethan clearance to cut the next one open. The breath she drew in was deep, and she appeared to hold it for a beat before admitting, "I trust you to not hurt my family with that knife."

The silence hung in the air for a second as Ethan's knife hovered over the tape. Bela's amber eyes settled on Ethan's, steady and unwavering as she preempted his thoughts, "Even Cassandra."

Ethan still had more than a few choice words to share with the Dimitrescu family's middle sister. No matter how badly he may have bruised Cassandra's pride, Ethan would hardly consider the score settled. A hurt ego did not make up for torture, a severed finger, and threatening his daughter to get him to play her damn game. Hell, the threats to Rose alone were enough to make Ethan consider burying that knife into her neck all over again – not that it would achieve much, as last time had proven.

But she had also helped Bela keep him from being put on Lady Dimitrescu's shitlist. He was alive and in one piece thanks to Bela and Cassandra's intervention.

Maybe that settled the score, but the more Ethan looked at his missing ring finger and the scars marring his forearm, the more he was inclined to think otherwise. At the very least, he could give Bela the peace of mind that he wouldn't attempt to kill Cassandra on sight.

"Yeah," Ethan grumbled, "I won't rip her jugular open. Promise."

It got a half-amused, half-nervous chuckle from Bela. "If she puts you through any more games with the Moroaice, I would prefer that you do not go in unarmed. The knife may not be much, but," She shrugged, "It is better than nothing."

To be fair to Cassandra (and that wasn't something Ethan ever thought his mind would say), she had equipped him for the task at hand. Fighting the Moroaice in close quarters was a nightmare – one he was not eager to repeat. But it was survivable, and Ethan did not like to think of his odds if Cassandra had sent him in barehanded. Ethan wasn't sure what that said about Cassandra's sense of what constituted a fair fight. He could hardly tell if setting him up for a fair fight had been her intent.

"I digress," Bela shook her head, motioning for Ethan to resume cutting away the tape. "I doubt it will come to that again. Still, it is better to have and not need, than to need and not have."

Ethan settled on giving Bela a small nod in agreement as he worked on the next box.

Maybe he really was a guest in this castle, and not a prisoner. His cell – his room, was being outfitted with new furniture, straight from an Ikea catalogue. He essentially had open access to stay in Bela's room whenever he pleased. He was fed three meals a day – delectable meals at that. He was even being trusted to keep a weapon on his person for Christ's sake.

But.

If Ethan really put his brain into it, the essence of his captivity had not changed. Inmates were fed three square meals a day; hardly gourmet food, but penitentiaries were mandated by the state to ensure prisoners got all the calories they needed in a day. Inmates had all the furnishings they needed, much like this cell. Inmates had yard time, running showers, rec room access – just like Ethan's newly found benefits. And well – while inmates weren't allowed to carry weapons, that didn't stop them from packing shivs in case of emergencies, especially if they were being held alongside violent inmates.

Admittedly, inmates (as far as Ethan knew) could not share a bed with a blonde bombshell of a woman whenever they wished – but that was beside the point.

The point was that all the bells and whistles – the new furniture, the access to Bela's quarters – did not change the essence of his stay. He was still a prisoner. He still could not take his daughter and escape. He was still here on Bela and her family's whim, until Bela decided to break bad and bust him out – or worse, if Chris decided to storm the castle to free him.

These were thoughts that grated on Ethan's mind with a weight he could not begin to describe. As he had long since discovered, it was far easier to tuck these parallels and analyses away. It was easier to ignore the gravity of his imprisonment, and focus on the silver linings. His sanity would thank him for it.

Or it wouldn't. Ethan knew he was already too far gone and had long since stopped caring, anyway.

The last box was freed of tape, and Ethan took that moment to step back and inspect the collection of furniture. There was the Arkelstorp desk, paired with the two Hattefjäll swivel chairs. Ethan's brows popped up in recognition when he read the bedframe's name: Songesand.

Life truly never ran out of little ironies. This was the same frame Ethan had picked up from Ikea when he moved into his first tiny apartment in California. That was before Mia moved in and they broke the bed after one too many fun nights. He could still hear Mia's amused voice telling him that having their (broken) bed on the floor was just like how the Japanese did it. It wasn't long after that when they upgraded to a bigger bed.

Ethan gave the box a hearty pat as he voiced the thoughts out loud with a slight laugh, "The Songesand," He was sure he butchered the pronunciation there, "was my first Ikea bed. I can put this thing together with my eyes closed."

When Ethan looked Bela's way, he found amusement spreading on her features. "Is that so?"

It sounded like a challenge, and Ethan was never one to back down from a challenge. "You heard that right."

"If you are so familiar with that, then why don't you assemble it without the instructions?" The playful glint in Bela's eyes stirred something within Ethan. "I will work on the desk while you handle the bed." Her voice carried a thinly veiled taunting to it, "I am sure that's nothing for a capable handyman such as yourself." Then she pursed her lips and shrugged, "But I would understand if you wish to back down."

"Do I smell a wager here?" Ethan cracked a smile, eyes narrowed at Bela in faux seriousness.

A soft hum from Bela, and she tilted her head. "If you assemble that frame without instructions, I shall cook you whatever you like – you name it."

Ethan pursed his lips, head bobbing in slow nods. "You see," He gave the box a hefty pat, "I don't need any Swedes telling me how to build a bed. But…" He savored the sight of Bela's mirthful grin. "If I somehow mess up, then what?"

"Maybe you can do the cooking for a change." There was a devilish delight in Bela's eyes as she spoke, and it excited Ethan in ways he could not comprehend. "I could use the break, and you ought to brush up on your culinary skills." A beat passed, and Bela winked. "You know – to earn your keep."

"I thought you said you don't want me to kill your entire family."

Bela erupted with laughter at his deadpan delivery. She pressed a hand to her lips as she managed to say, "I doubt your cooking will poison us, Ethan."

Ethan scrunched his face up, recalling the look on Mia's father's face when he saw Ethan's burned baking pan. "You might be giving me too much credit."

Bela bit down on her lip, the smile still fully spread on her features. "You could recruit Dani to assist you. She is not too much of a stranger to the kitchen, and I am sure she would like the bonding time. The maids will be on call as well to ensure you do not set the castle on fire."

That didn't sound like a bad way to spend the day at all. Losing this ridiculous bet hardly seemed to offer any negatives when Bela offered that consequence. Besides, there was no need to worry. How hard could it be to assemble a bed he'd shared with Mia for years?

"Okay," Ethan extended a hand to Bela. "It's a deal."

Bela shook his hand firmly, and it was just a tad reminiscent of when they had done the same to seal their earlier agreements – Ethan's blood in exchange for the little information Bela had on Rose.

And here they were now, wagering time spent in the kitchen over Ethan's proficiency in assembling Ikea furniture.

Ethan's mattress was stood up on its side, and the boxed chairs propped it up. It allowed them to lay out the packed frame and desk to take up most of the space in Ethan's small room. The pieces were freed from the box, along with the assortment of tools and bits needed to complete the builds. As the comfortable silence began to settle between them, Ethan started whistling a familiar tune. He didn't have his smartphone on hand, and so actually playing the song as per tradition was out of the question.

Bela didn't mind him at first. She kept busy; eyes scanned the instructions sheet as her fingers fiddled with the key wrench in hand. Her head swiveled back and forth between the page and her collection of screws and bolts. Ethan, all confidence and bravado, crumpled the bed's instructions up. In the epitome of maturity, he tossed the paper ball at Bela, bouncing it off the side of her head.

Her golden eyes tightened in what should have been a vicious (if not playful) glare – but it was a cute look on her, if Ethan were honest with himself.

"Is that your strategy?" Bela asked, "Distract me with that inane whistling and toss things at me like a child?" She made a sharp gesture to the planks of stained wood gathered around Ethan, "Is that how you plan on finishing ahead of me?"

"If I wanted to distract you, I would've started singing," Ethan replied, standing up with a long plank of pinewood in hand. He maneuvered over to the far stone wall of the cell to position it. "I sing about as well as I cook, too. Wanna hear?"

Bela grimaced. She pointed a wrench at him, "Do not start with me."

With an exaggerated clearing of his throat, Ethan began.

Long ago in days of yore,

It all began with a God named Thor.

There were Vikings and boats,

And some plans for a furniture store.

"What the fuck?" Was what Bela laughed out, but Ethan was having none of it.

It's not a bodega, it's not a mall,

Through the terrible singing, Ethan winked at Bela.

And they sell things for prison cells smaller than mine,

As if there were prison cells smaller than mine.

Ethan took a deep breath, ignoring Bela's loud plea of, "Stop!"

Ikea! Just some oak and some pine and a handful of Norsemen!

Bela zipped across the space as a swarm of flies. She materialized in front of Ethan, knocking him into his mattress against the wall. She clamped a hand over his mouth. Her brows were raised high, her eyes were wide open, and her lips were spread wide in amusement. She laughed breathlessly, and warned, "If you keep that up, I really will lock you in here."

Ethan's reply was muffled against her hand, prompting Bela to laugh and attempt to drive home her threat, "If you continue singing, I will stuff that paper ball of instructions down your throat."

When she freed his mouth, Ethan grinned, telling her, "I'm just looping you in on some Winters family traditions."

"God-awful singing? Is that what counts for a tradition where you come from?"

Ethan barked out a sharp laugh as Bela stepped back – no longer pinning him to the mattress. "Nah, not the singing." Ethan motioned for Bela to return to her desk as he crouched down by the planks of wood for the bed. Bela gave him one last look – a coalescence of warning and suspicion alike – then reclaimed her space towards the cell door. "Back before, with Mia…"

It was liberating to be able to talk about her. In the back of his head, Ethan sometimes worried that Bela would be put off by how he could never shut up about his late wife. Anyone else would be annoyed, or jealous, or both by now. Yet the compassionate look in Bela's eyes was never absent when Mia came into conversation. The crushing load on his heart was lifting the more Ethan talked about Mia, and Bela was always happy to listen, for whatever reason.

"Jon Coulton," Ethan recalled, "I was always a big fan of his, and when he put out that Ikea song, we always had that on loop while putting furniture together." The smile spread on Bela's face, and Ethan found it contagious as always. He chuckled to himself as he spoke, "It was funny the first couple of times, but when the song went on for an hour or two, it would drive Mia nuts."

"You really enjoy being an annoyance to women, don't you?" Bela giggled.

"Excuse you – people find me endearing."

Bela blew out a scoff and a chuckle, "I am sure you tell yourself that all the time."

"Anyway," Ethan shook his head, maneuvering the next plank of wood into position. "That just became a thing of ours. When it's time to put furniture together, that song comes on. Even when we first moved here…" He could still recall the literal and figurative cold arrival in Romania. Their spirits were low, and the uncertainty of the future was palpable in the air, thanks in no small part to Chris' secrecy surrounding their move. "I played that song when we busted out the Ikea boxes, and it got a laugh out of Mia. I'm talking a really – just, a belly laugh, y'know?"

The admiration twinkled in Bela's eyes, and she affirmed softly, "Yeah."

"Broke the ice and sort of got us back on track a little. So, I got Jon Coulton to thank for that." Ethan wore his fond (and just a little forlorn) smile as they lapsed back into a companionable silence.

Minutes ticked by, stretching into what felt like hours. Ethan and Bela remained focused on their respective tasks at hand. Panes of wood were meticulously aligned and positioned. Bolts and screws found their homes within the grains of wood. The key wrenches and screwdrivers got put to extensive use all throughout.

Not much was said as they worked on the assembly. Bela kept a keen eye on the instructions, ensuring she was following them down to a T; she mumbled under her breath every so often, making mental notes as she organized her screws and bolts. Ethan had to rack his memory of the first time he'd done this, which was about ten years ago, he realized. So far, it wasn't too bad, as the assembly was relatively uncomplex. What worried Ethan was the sequence of the tasks he was performing. If he got them out of order, he may not be able to lock the frame's legs into place properly. If that was the case, he would need to disassemble part of the frame's body and start over.

He had only himself to blame for this, really. Ethan grew wearier as his pile of bolts and screws failed to diminish proportionately to the planks of pinewood he was assembling – he was skipping steps and he had no idea which ones.

Some of Ethan and Bela's interactions arose from them stealing glances at one another. Ethan caught Bela staring at one point – whether at him or his progress, Ethan didn't know. It inevitably led to petty attempts at sabotage to slow one another down. Ethan flicked Bela's bag of bolts and screws across the room, sending it tumbling through the cell bars.

In retaliation, Bela seized Ethan's key wrenches, holding them hostage. She kept Ethan at bay with a strong hand to his chest when he attempted to lunge for the tools. Unlucky for Ethan, Bela was wicked strong, and he had little chance to overpower her. But Ethan was nothing, if not stubborn and persistent.

Bela sat on the floor, her grin mischievous, and her sturdy hand planted on Ethan's chest. It stopped him the same way a playground bully might keep a smaller child from reclaiming his stolen toy. Ethan didn't think all the ground fighting Chris taught him would ever be applied in this context, but it was.

Ethan brought a hand to Bela's elbow to destabilize her grip at the joint. It was just physics at work – no brute strength to it. Her arm bent at the elbow, allowing Ethan to launch himself at her. Bela got an alarmed laugh out before she landed on her back, and Ethan toppled onto her.

She kept her other arm extended far above her head, while the other was pinned between herself and Ethan.

"Gimme that!" Ethan's voice was far more amused than assertive at this point.

Bela wriggled from beneath Ethan like the tapeworm she was, crying out, "No!"

Ethan felt Bela's arm attempting to free itself, while she kicked her legs out, thrashing in her effort to get him off. Training kicked in, and Ethan's body moved of its own accord. His knees came up one at a time to press down on Bela's flailing legs – just enough to pass her full guard. Within moments, Ethan maneuvered himself to sit atop her in a full mount, keeping his weight centered to pin Bela down, and negate the efficacy of her swinging legs. All the while, Bela's arm remained tangled with one of Ethan's, and smushed between their chests.

"Let me go!" Bela's breath and laughter alike were hot against the side of Ethan's face – a byproduct of all the wriggling they were doing on the floor.

Ethan instead reached for the wrenches in Bela's other hand. She stretched and strained to keep them just out of reach – and he cursed Bela's long, slender arms for giving her the upper hand.

Then teeth pressed into Ethan's chin, not enough to hurt, but enough to force him to pause – both too stunned and bewildered to continue. His eyes darted away from the tools, and down to Bela, who had taken to biting his chin to get him to stop. They made eye contact, and Bela gently dragged her teeth across his chin before pulling away, immediately succumbing to a fit of giggles.

"Well don't bite me!"

When Bela was able to suck in a breath and get the laughs under control, she hummed, remarking, "I thought you liked it when I bite."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Ethan let out a low laugh of his own. Bela's soft, almost sultry tone sent the butterflies in his stomach into a frenzy. He turned his face away from Bela's.

After letting slip another giggle, Bela grumbled, "Get off me."

"Give me back my wrenches," was Ethan's counteroffer.

Bela craned her head towards the cell door, then back to Ethan – and it was only then he realized how close their faces were. Close enough that he could count every dainty, well curled lash surrounding Bela's gorgeous eyes. "Go get those bolts."

She was panting softly, her breath fanning Ethan's face; it drew his eyes to Bela's slightly trembling lips, as full and inviting as ever, always demanding his attention.

It took an inordinate amount of willpower for Ethan to pull his head back, gently pushing himself up. He inadvertently towered above Bela from his full mount. Her cascading blonde hair was messy, splayed out beneath her tilted head. Her one arm was outstretched to keep the bolts away, and the other was crossed over her midsection. He could see Bela appearing as she was now, but on her mattress, with far less clothes, and her hands gripping the sheets rather than those damn wrenches. Would she look at him the same way then? Biting down on her lower lip, eyes fixed to his face, drinking in the sight of him?

Ethan quite liked the view from up here.

He gently rolled to the side and off Bela before the thoughts could travel further down the gutter. Ethan didn't need a mirror to tell his face was flushed. He felt his entire head heating up just thinking of pinning Bela down and –

Ethan recovered the bolts beyond the open cell door before he got any bright ideas. Bela took that time to sit back up, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. There was a smidge of comfort Ethan felt seeing Bela's cheeks equally flushed. She waited until Ethan extended the bolts to her before she relinquished the wrenches. She put on a too-sweet smile and cooed, "Thank you, puppy."

"Yeah, yeah," Ethan grumbled, waving it off.

He sunk back into his current dilemma of the bed frame's legs failing to align with the rest of it. Analyzing where he'd gone wrong with the assembly was easy. Easier, at least, than analyzing the fact Bela was leagues stronger than him and could have easily knocked him off her. Hell, she didn't even need to flex her strength – she could have simply morphed into her swarm and allowed him to faceplant, but chose not to.

The longer time stretched on, and the closer Bela got to completing the Arkelstorp, the more Ethan realized he was fucked. Try as he might, he failed to get the headboard to connect to the frame without the pinewood producing a dangerous amount of creaking. Too many bolts, nuts, and screws had gone unused, and something had been assembled out of sequence; it was preventing the pieces from fitting snuggly together.

Ethan never thought Ikea would betray him like this.

Eventually, Bela released an audible sigh as the last drawer slid into place; she placed her hands on her hips, and admired the assembled desk in all its glory. The light wooden top was sleek and securely connected to the legs. The black metal desk drawers were fastened and functional, rails and all. The look she shot Ethan was smugger than ever as her eyes flicked from Ethan to his handiwork – examining the poor state of his furniture.

Bela carried a sense of ironic surprise in her tone, "I suppose you cannot assemble that bed with your eyes closed after all." The sour look on Ethan's face only egged her on as she gave the tabletop a firm pat. "As you can see, man-thing, the desk is finished."

He was beat, but it was fine. Bela appeared highly pleased with herself, and the consequences of failure were far from dire.

"You wanna keep rubbing it in, or do you wanna give me a hand here?" Ethan put on the approximation of a charming smile.

Bela let out a breathy giggle, and tilted her head. "Rubbing it in sounds more fun, to be honest."

Ethan narrowed his eyes in nonverbal message of 'Seriously?'

"Fine," Bela put on a show of rolling her eyes. She recovered the crumpled ball of instructions. Bela smoothed out the creases as best as she could. When the words and illustrations were legible once more, she got to her feet and approached Ethan. "Let us correct this mess of yours."

Not surprising Ethan in the slightest, the rest of the build went smoothly when they worked together. They had already laid the foundation of their teamwork when repairing that door mold. This just felt like a sequel to that exercise. Before long, they laid Ethan's mattress on the newly constructed bedframe, and the task was capped off with a congratulatory fist bump.

The late morning bled into noon, and Bela excused herself for just a moment as she checked on lunch preparations. They christened Ethan's new desk, setting their meal trays on the wooden surface. Ethan and Bela sat on the boxes as they ate, since the chairs were still next in line for assembly. Conversation flowed as it always did, remaining light. They had gotten their share of heavy talk the night before – what with the contemplations of humanity, and the state of the valley. The easy talk was nice for a change.

That was how Ethan learned there was an Opera Hall somewhere in the castle. Not too surprising, considering the fancy-shmancy state of the entire gold-trimmed interior. It would have been more surprising if there wasn't an Opera Hall.

"Music was actually… quite prominent in the early years," Bela remarked, eyes on the kebab at the tip of her fork. "Back when mother was not so busy all the time with Miranda."

Ethan finished chewing and swallowing before responding, "Really? How so?"

There was an air of mischief to Bela, especially in that smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Before coming to the valley, mother was in a jazz band."

Ethan could practically hear his train of thought screeching to a halt; his fork paused halfway to his mouth, until he lowered it completely.

"What?" Ethan's tone was plainly incredulous, "Did I hear that right?"

Bela giggled, nodding. "Miss D and the Pallboys was what they were called. She was the lead vocalist." Bela took Ethan's dropped jaw as a sign to add, "Believe it or not, they were quite famous at the time. I think there is an album of theirs somewhere around here."

The infamous Lady Dimitrescu wearing a satin dress trimmed with sequins, grabbing a microphone as sax flowed in the background – it was quite the image Bela was evoking. He had to wonder how she had gone from that to ruling a castle in the middle of nowhere in Romania. Her career was either so good that she could afford her own castle, and to become nobility, or, it was so terrible that she had to disappear to bumfuck nowhere in the mountains. From singing in a jazz band to making wine out of people – there was no clear correlation Ethan could see. The Point A and Point B Bela had drawn were worlds apart. Bela spoke again before Ethan could voice his confusion.

"Mother tried teaching us to play, but with varying success." Bela looked just a tad melancholic when she added, "I only started practicing the piano again a few years ago. I am still very much a novice, but it's still nice to sit in the Opera Hall and practice from time to time."

Ethan let the idea settle for a moment, making the mental note of asking Bela to take him to that room some time. Curiously, he asked, "What about the other two?"

"Daniela is actually quite adept at playing the cello." Bela's warm smile spoke of the fondness she had for her sister. "But she does not play much these days. Her painting keeps her preoccupied. Aside from…"

The obsessive library rearrangement.

Ethan nodded his understanding. "And Cassandra?"

"If a knife would be considered an instrument, then she would be highly proficient with that," Was Bela's dry remark.

"Figures," Ethan huffed a soft chuckle. "So she's not big into music?"

"Oh no," Bela shook her head and wore a grimace. She fiddled with the fork in her hand as she said, "She can appreciate music, she just does not play anything. That is, if you can consider that noise of hers to be music."

It pulled a smile from Ethan. "Okay, now I'm curious. What does she listen to?"

"Some sort of German heavy metal," Bela winced, "Far too intense for my taste."

Ethan winced as well, but for a completely different reason. He was never going to live it down if he and Cassandra had the common interest of liking Rammstein, or some other metal band. Not wishing to dwell on that possibility, Ethan pivoted the conversation. "You heard it earlier, but I can't sing to save my life."

"You really can't," Bela giggled. She raised a hand and added, "But here is a thought. Next time you run into some lycans, you should start singing. That will surely scare them away."

Ethan ignored Bela's wink in favor of shooting back, "Gee, thanks. You think that'll work on irritating tapeworms too?"

"Don't you dare!" Bela laughed out, brows raised high in alarm.

When the laughter settled down, Ethan found himself looking at his hands, battered and abused as they were. "I used to play a little, though," He said. Bela followed his gaze to his missing digits. "Been years now since I last played on a piano or keyboard."

It had been two weeks now since Ethan lost so many damn fingers. He was beginning to adapt to most day-to-day tasks well enough, but his newfound disability still had him fumbling from time to time. Activities that required finer motor functions could be a bitch. Simply holding onto things could be troublesome up to now. It was a small silver lining that his pointer fingers and thumbs were intact – so at least most tasks could be completed with minimal slip ups.

No way he was going to play on the piano with a shred of the competency he used to have though.

Bela's hand came to land on Ethan's, and she gave him a squeeze. The smile she wore was reassuring, and she spoke softly, "Maybe we can shake that rust off in the Opera Hall some time."

"Yeah," Ethan smiled back, "One of these days."


"So, what's this one about?" Ethan asked from his position, lying down on Daniela's sofa. His hands were crossed behind his head, and he looked up at the intricate gold trim on the ceiling. His legs were crossed atop one another, and his socked feet were propped up on the armrest

After lunch, Bela and Ethan put the swivel chairs together without further incident. Ethan's scheduled day in the kitchen was still yet to be determined – but Bela was set in stone in her desire to have him take the reins in the kitchen, for better or for worse. As Ethan had warned her, it was their funeral if Bela insisted on Ethan trying to cook.

Not long after that, Bela escorted Ethan to the library. He promised to spend time with Daniela, and it was time to fulfill that promise. Bela excused herself in the meantime, saying she wished to take a nap in her room. It left Ethan alone with Daniela, whose entire being lit up like a child on Christmas day, and Ethan was giftwrapped just for her.

Apparently, the redhead had spent most of the morning going about her routine – rearranging books, and reorganizing shelves as she always did. It saved Ethan from the mind-numbing work of assisting Daniela with the reorganization, and from the potentially deadly work of convincing her to resist the compulsive urges. For now, Daniela sat at her desk, and the typewriter's keys produced their rhythmic clicks as she toiled away.

"It's a short story." Daniela's bubbly voice filled the library, and it put Ethan at ease to hear her sounding content. There was some dramatic flair to it when Daniela twiddled her fingers in the air as she chimed in a singsong voice, "A mystery novel."

Ethan hummed aloud. "Okay, I'll bite. What's the big mystery?"

When Daniela didn't immediately reply, Ethan uncrossed his hands, propping himself up on his elbows. He looked Daniela's way, finding her frowning at her typewriter. Her hands hovered over the keys, as still as a kid with stage fright at their first recital.

Taking slow movements, Ethan righted his position on the sofa so he was sitting up. He scooted to the side so he could duck his head to meet Daniela's gaze. "Hey… what's wrong, Dani?"

The prior excitement had been replaced by frustration. Daniela balled her hands into fists, which then settled onto her lap. Her hands wrung against one another, until she began to thumb Maria's necklace, still secured around her wrist.

"It just," Daniela blew out a scoff, "It sounds cliché now that I think about it."

Ethan did his best to smile and reassure her. "Thousands of books out there follow the same formula, but with a small twist to make it unique. I'm sure your story's got something that sets it apart."

The tension eased from Daniela's brow, in favor of a look of contemplation. After some thought, she answered, "While trying to solve the mystery, the heroine – one of the local shopkeepers – discovers she can read minds." Her sheepish eyes went to Ethan, and the nervousness seeped into her tone. "Is… is that unique?"

"Yeah," Ethan smiled, nodding his head. "That sounds like a cool spin on it. Can she like… read everyone's mind?"

Daniela shifted in her seat to better face Ethan, now smiling as widely as he was. "That's the thing – it doesn't always work, and Lisa herself is still trying to figure out why that is. And it is not all thoughts either. More like…"

Her face scrunched up in the effort to find the words, and Ethan threw a suggestion out, "Surface level thoughts?"

Daniela snapped her fingers, and gave a vigorous nod, "Yes, exactly!"

"That sounds really cool, Dani." Ethan motioned to the typewriter with his hand. "How far along are you?"

"Well, there have been a few murders now, and Lisa suspects Daniel the postman, and Victor the barley farmer." Daniela spoke quickly and excitably, "But those're red herrings the killer left to cover her tracks."

"Is this like… halfway through the book?" Ethan asked. When Daniela hummed in confirmation, Ethan followed up with, "Who's the killer then?"

Daniela bopped Ethan on the nose, leaving him to give her a half-hearted glare. She was quick to shoot him down. "That is a spoiler, my dear Ethan. You'll have to read the book to find out."

"You got something for me to get started on?" Ethan glanced at the surprisingly neat stack of papers to the left of the typewriter – far away from Daniela's cup of tea, and Ethan's mug of coffee. "My offer to be your editor still stands."

"Ethan," Daniela giggled, "If you act as my editor, that will just be the blind leading the blind! At least one of us should know what we're doing."

"You got a better idea?" Ethan shrugged.

Rolling her eyes, Daniela shook her head. "Fine." She reached for the stack of papers, leafing through the reams. Once she separated a handful of sheets, they were passed over to Ethan. "You may give your comments and suggestions, but," Daniela pointed a finger, making a show of narrowing her eyes at him, "be nice."

Ethan gently took the small stack of paper in hand. He nodded towards the loose pencils and pens on the desk and asked, "Mind if I grab a pencil?"

"Be my guest."

He picked out the sharpest pencil available, idly twirling it between his fingers as he set his eyes on the prologue's draft.

"For now," Daniela joined her hands, extending her arms out to crack her knuckles, "I must figure out how the killer escapes Vanessa, and how Madilyn identifies the murder weapon."

Daniela did not bother elaborating further as to who these characters were. He could easily deduce Lisa to be the mind reading protagonist. It was a safe guess that Vanessa and Madilyn were supporting characters of some sort. If Ethan wanted to know more, then he ought to sink his teeth into Daniela's story.

The oddity that was Daniela's choice in genre struck Ethan in the slightest. After getting to know her – and after their conversation the other day – Ethan had expected Daniela to start writing that unconventional romance novel of hers, giving the Fifty Shades trilogy a run for its money. But then again, Daniela had said this mystery novel was supposed to be a short one. This story may serve to be her training wheels as she prepared for a longer novel. If her attention was as erratic as Ethan had been led to believe, then this seemed like the right call.

The premise was intriguing as well, and as Ethan leafed through page after page, it was apparent Daniela had a knack for writing. For all Ethan knew, Daniela may be gearing up to launch a young adult mystery series to rival Nancy Drew.

Before Ethan could ask for the next chapter's draft, Daniela broke the silence first, "Hey, Ethan?"

He looked up from the pages to meet Daniela's eyes. She smiled at him, and her yellow eyes carried a shiny tint. "Thank you for coming today." Daniela averted her gaze, looking down at the necklace on her wrist. "It's nice to not be alone."

It was easy returning Daniela's smile. "Happy to be here, Dani. Tomorrow I'll be back same time after lunch to annoy you again."

Daniela giggled, and she quickly brushed the back of her hand against her eyes. Taking a breath, she admitted, "I miss Maria."

Ethan's heart sank.

He watched wordlessly as Daniela toyed with Maria's necklace. She pinched it between her thumb and forefinger, rubbing the dove with gentle strokes. Despite the dampness in Daniela's eyes, she smiled at Ethan. "I miss her every day."

She let out a shaky sigh, turning in her chair. Daniela raised a hand to gesture to the library. "I see her sometimes." A bittersweet smile formed on her lips. "I've been seeing her more now ever since you found her necklace."

Ethan followed the trail of Daniela's eyes. He could make out the path they traveled. From the entrance and to the surrounding perimeter, and then to the central bookshelves. Then to the coffee table where Ethan had shared several meals with Daniela. Then finally to the seat Ethan was occupying in that moment.

"Do you believe in ghosts, Ethan?"

"I…" Ethan trailed off, eyes falling away from Daniela's. Prior to the Baker House, Ethan didn't believe in monsters. They were a thing of comic books and video games and movies. They weren't real. There was no way a coagulated mass of mold could stand on two legs and commit bloody murder.

Boy was he wrong about that one.

"I dunno," Ethan muttered. If monsters – horrific bioweapons – were real, then it's not like ghosts were too far off. He settled instead on an attempt at lifting Daniela's spirits, "I didn't believe in hot vampires, but then I met you three."

It got a sharp giggle from Daniela, and the gratitude shone through her smile. She gave him a playful swat on the arm before the mirth died down. It left a somber frown on Daniela's features.

"I don't know if I'm haunted, or," Daniela raised her shoulders in a helpless shrug, "Or if it's all in my head. But I see her." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I see Maria."

She turned to face the rest of the library as she continued speaking, "I could be painting under the skylight, and I see her dusting the shelves. I could be eating by myself at the table, and…" Daniela licked her lips and laughed softly, "She's sitting next to me, telling me about how Tatyana slipped in the kitchen."

Daniela closed her eyes, and was silent for a moment; Ethan belatedly realized she was working through the breathing cycles he had taught her.

"Before you arrived, and I was still writing… I could feel her standing behind me," The ghost of a smile gently tugged on Daniela's lips. "She's brushing my hair and asking about my story." Her head fell, eyes fixed to the necklace. "I miss her… so, so much."

Ethan could relate to Daniela all too well. When Mia was first presumed dead, he saw her everywhere too. Smiling at him from the balcony, hair tied up in a high ponytail, and sweat at her brow. Standing in the kitchen, asking him how work was, while the sweet smell of pancakes and maple syrup filled the air. Lying beside him in bed, scrolling through social media on her phone before she kissed him goodnight; for years, no matter how many times the pillowcases were washed, they would always smell like Mia's perfume – vanilla.

There wasn't much sage wisdom Ethan had to impart on Daniela. The ghost of Mia's memory had haunted him for years (and it was a miracle he wasn't seeing her around the castle). If there had been some way to stop seeing her in every little thing, Ethan did not know how back then. Even if he did, he wasn't sure if he would have, considering his wandering, grieving mind could find some solace in imagining Mia was alive and present. Maybe Daniela felt the same, and glimpsing Maria in the library was less of a curse and more of a blessing.

All Ethan could do was reach across the desk to hold Daniela's hand in a show of solidarity. They remained quiet for some time as the deathly silent tears trickled down Daniela's cheeks, and Ethan eventually stood up to give the poor girl a hug. It seemed, for the moment, it was all Daniela needed.


A few days passed.

Once more, a semblance of a routine fell into place, with the addition of Daniela to his afternoon.

Mornings were similar to before Cassandra's game. Ethan had breakfast alone, or accompanied by Bela, depending on if Lady Dimitrescu was present. Her schedule was erratic due to the ongoing war with Chris and his alleged "fifty fucking cowboys in the mountains."

Whenever Bela did not personally eat with Ethan, one of her notes would find their way under his plate. The usual bits of insight into his breakfast were given, along with the promise to see him soon. It never failed to make Ethan's heart flutter when reading 'Dear Puppy,' and 'Love, Tapeworm.'

Bela would arrive not long after breakfast with a coffee in each hand, and she was always a welcome sight. Following that, and the conversations that never seemed to end, they would go on walks. Curiously, Ethan noted they took the same route as before, arriving at the bedchamber Ethan had nearly been strung up in. He figured the Opera Hall was a bit of a private space, given Lady Dimitrescu's background, so Bela wasn't keen on taking him there right away. He wasn't too eager to find out how poorly he played with his mangled hands, so it was fine by him. Ethan was always content to just stretch his legs anyway.

They had lunch with Daniela on some days, joining her in the library. It was endlessly entertaining to see the two sisters interact with such fondness for one another, matched only by how they would bicker and tease each other (and Daniela never passed up on an opportunity to tease Bela over Ethan, or try to make her jealous). When they weren't doing that, they were mercilessly teasing him instead, but Ethan was used to being the butt of the joke. He just enjoyed seeing everyone in high spirits.

After lunch, Bela would sometimes stick around for a while longer, spending time with Ethan and Daniela; often, Bela would read Daniela's chapter drafts over Ethan's shoulder. Other times, she would excuse herself, citing that she was tired, or that she had something to do in her room.

It left Daniela to resume her writing, while Ethan occasionally chimed in with his input, or gave his feedback over her drafts. When tiptoeing around Daniela's temper – which Ethan was becoming adept at – he could easily pass his friendly advice to help improve Daniela's writing. If they weren't working on Daniela's mystery novella, they were in the atelier; Daniela took it upon herself to teach Ethan how to paint with acrylic.

Once the sun would begin to set, Daniela took them back to one of the sofas, picking a book out from her countless shelves. Ethan read aloud whatever book Daniela selected for the day, while the latter held onto his arm, and rested her head on his shoulder. Ethan found Daniela teasing him less in those moments, as she appeared to be content to bask in the companionship, eyes closed as she listened to his voice.

When the evenings crept in, Ethan typically made his way back to his cell, often with Bela escorting him. The term 'precaution' carried more weight to it whenever Bela looped their arms and led the way – they were far more likely to be caught at this time of day when the castle matriarch was due to return. With Lady Dimitrescu present in the castle, the sisters would be in complete attendance for dinner. Bela sent food (and a note) as per the usual, and she would find her way to Ethan's cell in the hours that followed.

Bela sometimes stayed the night. Neither of them made a big deal out of it. It was like how they didn't make a big deal of how Bela stopped locking Ethan's cell. He was essentially free to come and go as he pleased, but there were the obvious soft barriers keeping him from wandering around without a care in the world (i.e., Cassandra and her very tall, very dangerous mother).

Sometimes Bela would simply ask if she could sleep with him tonight. Ethan's heart would go haywire as it always did, and he would answer yes, as he always did. Other times, one of them would suggest moving to Bela's room – especially if it was a particularly cold evening. Her room was warmer, and neither of them minded sharing body heat. While Ethan's jeans still were not the coziest to sleep in, Bela's soft bed, and her softer embrace made up for it. The Duke had been away on business the past few days, so they had yet to get Ethan additional clothes.

Some nights they slept apart, suddenly conscious of the intimacy and implications of being tangled up in each other's arms in bed. Other times, there was little thought or pretense that went into it, and they simply found sanctuary in each other's embrace. Whether they started the night apart or together, they would always be wrapped up in each other come morning. A mess of tangled limbs, where Ethan could never tell where he began and Bela ended. The heartachingly domestic nature of it was not lost on Ethan.

But it's not like he was opposed to it either. The days were getting easier to bear, and the pain of grief in his heart grew a smidge lighter with every morning he woke up to Bela's sleepy smile.

Some nights they slept alone. No argument or conflict ever brought these on. They tended to happen organically, whenever one of them was too wrapped up in their own head and needed some privacy. To that end, Ethan could appreciate the extra furnishings in his room – or his cell, as he often had to correct himself. But 'cell' or 'room' were just semantics at this point. Ethan spent more time in Bela's room than his own cell; he felt that negated the importance of distinguishing whether it was a prison cell or a guestroom.

One evening, Bela arrived at Ethan's room after dinner, stopping by the cell door. Rather than coyly asking if she could come in (she always asked for his permission, even until now), Bela simply opened the door.

Ethan watched Bela curiously from where he sat at his desk. When Bela did not immediately elaborate or speak up, he closed his journal and swiveled in the chair to face her. "What's up?"

"Come," Bela beckoned him over with a hand.

Interest piqued, and never one to say no to Bela's invitations, Ethan stood up. He tucked the journal into his back pocket and approached Bela. Odds were that she just wanted to spend the night in her room instead.

Ethan came to a stop in front of Bela, who blocked the doorway with her slender frame. In her signature tell of nervousness, Bela chewed on her bottom lip. Contrasting it was a wholly unfamiliar mannerism – her hands were in her pockets.

It appeared she was growing conscious of her odd behavior, as Bela promptly pulled a white handkerchief from her pocket and smiled through her nerves. "I have a surprise for you."

Ethan eyed the pristine cloth and the embroidered red letter B with no shortage of suspicion. His sarcasm took the reigns from there. "Oh, wow. Would you look at that – a handkerchief. Never seen one of those before." Ethan gave his deadpan delivery, even as it split a smile across Bela's face – cutting through whatever unease she'd been feeling. His dry tone finally broke when he concluded, "I'm so surprised."

Bela rolled her eyes, biting down on her smile. She raised the cloth, "Wear this for me, would you?"

"Wear it?" Ethan cracked an incredulous smile. "How do I wear a handkerchief?"

"Like a blindfold," Bela spoke as though it should be obvious.

Ethan was beyond second guessing Bela at this point, so he took the cloth, unfolding and refolding it into a long strip. "You better not be blindfolding me to toss me to the Moroaice."

Bela's giggling face was the last thing he saw before he covered his eyes. She assisted him in securing the knot, then brought her lips to his ear and replied, "No promises."

With blackness obscuring Ethan's vision, he held his arm out. Bela was quick to loop her arm around his to guide him. "This way."

Ethan didn't think much of it off the bat. He'd asked Bela to close her eyes before giving her the sand. For all he knew, this was her way of returning the favor somehow.

They walked through the winding passageways of the dungeons for some time. After the countless trips back and forth through these corridors, Ethan could say with certainty (real certainty, unlike his Ikea-based bravado) that he could navigate the dungeons blind. The turns were all intimately familiar. When they arrived at the dungeon landing, with Bela's room to their right, and the stairs to the kitchen to their left, Ethan expected them to go right.

They went left.

"Stairs here," Bela warned Ethan.

They climbed up the steps with little incident, thanks to Bela guiding Ethan's movements, and his familiarity with the route.

There were a couple guesses Ethan had in mind as they navigated through the kitchens, the dining room, and out into the Great Hall. The most likely possibility was that Bela was surprising him with a trip to the Opera Hall. He might be about to find out the extent of Bela's musical prowess, and the idea put a smile on his blindfolded face.

He still had no clue where in the castle that hall was, though.

"Stairs again; be careful."

Well – the Opera Hall was probably large, spanning multiple floors, just as the Great Hall did. It might be quicker to reach it via the second floor. Otherwise, Ethan couldn't fathom where Bela was taking him. Other destinations – her own room, the Duke's Emporium – were ruled out.

They took a turn once they arrived on the second floor, and Ethan drew on his memory of the map Chris' drone had projected. Jotting it down onto his journal had helped, and as the hazy images meshed to form a complete picture – Ethan's heart skipped a beat.

The path they were taking was leading to Lady Dimitrescu's room – where Rose was being kept.

After the missed beat, Ethan's heart then went ballistic, racing in his chest and thundering against his ribcage.

No – that couldn't be it. Ethan had been burned too many times in the past three years to hold onto the hope that something good was coming for a change – that this was it.

Their steps were muffled by the long carpet as they continued along the second-floor corridor. Ethan forced himself to picture the map of this area as clearly as possible – ensure he wasn't missing some other room they could be heading to.

What else was there? They were on the second floor, Bela was calling it a surprise – so what else could it be? Where could they possibly be going?

This had to be it.

There was little time to ponder it further when they stopped, and Ethan's heart stopped along with them. Bela took an audible breath from his side, and gave his arm a squeeze. Then a sound came – a door handle turning, and hinges giving a soft squeak.

The smell is what hit Ethan first.

The unmistakable scent of baby powder.

Ethan's legs trembled with every step forward, and he had Bela to thank for the fact he was still upright. His knees would have given way by now if he had to do this alone.

Together, Bela led Ethan deeper into the room; his grip steadily grew firm on Bela's arm, and she tightened her hold on him in turn. Then they came to a stop, and it was only then that Ethan realized he was holding his breath – because then he smelled it again – that damn baby powder, this time mixed with the fragrance of clean, freshly changed diapers, and – Ethan nearly fainted when the recognition hit him like a truck.

The slightly herby, slightly sweet scent of parsnip and carrot – Rose's favorite mush of baby food.

He felt Bela's hands on the back of his head, gently tugging on the knot to undo it.

The blindfold came free, and Ethan was met with the sight of Rosemary Winters, sleeping soundly in a wooden crib. Her face – her cheeks were as round and healthy as he remembered – was free from the slightest distress, appearing to be as cozy and content as can be as she slept, completely oblivious to her father's arrival.

"I'm sorry it took so long to set this up," Bela spoke in a whisper from behind Ethan.

Tunnel-visioning on Rose, Ethan had nearly forgotten Bela. She took deliberately soft steps to stand at Ethan's side. She wore an apologetic smile, hands clasped together in front of her. "If it is any consolation, I think I can clear the way so you can visit her a few times a week."

There was a tightness in Ethan's throat as his eyes ran all over Bela's face. Here she was with her heart of gold and her fulfilled promise to reunite him with his daughter – and she was apologizing for taking her time to setup the meet. It was all thanks to Bela this was happening, and she felt she had something – anything to apologize for.

Ethan did not have the words. Not when his baby girl was safe and sound, sleeping tight barely a foot away. Not when Bela Dimitrescu had his back, and cared for him enough to go against her family's wishes, and reunite him with his daughter.

Ethan did the only thing he could think of.

He placed his hands on Bela's cheeks and kissed her lips.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Do be sure to drop a fave and a follow before you go, and leave me a review to let me know how liked this chapter! As always, I adore hearing from each and every one of you.

One of you while holding a monkey's paw, probably: I wish Ethan and Bela would kiss already.

Monkey's paw: Granted, but it's a cliffhanger.

We'll dive right into Ethan's mind mid-kiss soon enough, my dear readers. In about a week or two's time, as usual, or sooner, if y'all are lucky.

Overall, the chapter was a blast to write, from Bela haunted by her past, to their bonding over Ikea - which seems to be a recurring thing (along with Jon Coulton's Ikea, go give that a listen) in the stuff I write. I also couldn't *not* have a peek at Dani's writing, and just how badly she's missing ol' Maria.

It was also important to establish the new routine falling into place, because it gives me a lot more freedom and wiggle room with the pacing and timeline of the story. So I hope you fellas also liked the establishment of Ethan's new day-to-day in the castle.

The reunion with Rose and the Bela/Ethan kiss were also something I've been meaning to slap everyone in the face with as a cliffhanger, so it's a joy to get here, haha! I could only keep these two off each other for so long, but the two of them insisted that it was time, and I had to listen - I am, after all, but a humble chronicler of Ethan and Bela's whims.

Anyway, that's it for me for now. I'll see y'all in a week or two. Until then, thanks so much for all the support, and I hope you all stay safe out there. Cheers!