Casper Darling hadn't slept in two days.

Not properly, anyway. Catnaps at his desk didn't count. Not when his dreams were filled with jagged resonance patterns and, over the last few hours, the flickering silhouette of a six-year-old girl glowing faintly with an alien hum.

Susanna Trench.

Darling stared at the waveform analysis scrolling across the main terminal in the Research Sector, jaw tight, glasses askew. The entity had wrapped around her like a parasite — but it wasn't feeding. Not in the way parasites usually did.

It was… growing. Integrating.

Which terrified him more than anything.

"Come on," he whispered, fingers dancing over the keyboard. "Give me something."

Behind him, Trench loomed, silent as a monolith. The Director looked worse than Darling had ever seen him — all sharp edges dulled by sleeplessness and guilt.

"You said you had an idea," Trench rumbled.

Darling hesitated — because saying it out loud made it real.

"I think—" He swallowed. "I think the entity's resonance isn't entirely hostile. At least not toward Susanna specifically. It's… stabilizing in her system. Like it recognizes something."

Trench's jaw clenched. "Recognizes what?"

Darling inhaled shakily. "Her connection to you. To the House. The entity latched onto you first — your memories, your presence. But Susanna… she's younger. More adaptable. The resonance isn't fighting her body. It's treating her like—like an anchor."

Silence stretched between them.

"That's not comforting, Darling," Trench said flatly.

Darling let out a dry, nervous laugh. "No, no, it's not. But it gives us an angle."

He brought up another screen — a crude schematic of the Oldest House, overlaid with resonance patterns from both Susanna and the entity. There, faint but unmistakable: points of alignment.

"The entity exists partially outside of our reality," Darling explained, voice rising with desperate hope. "But if we can construct a harmonization field — tuned through Susanna rather than against her — we might be able to lure the entity's consciousness out of her and into a controlled environment."

Trench stared.

"You want to build a bridge for this thing?" Trench asked.

Darling nodded. "A cage. But one it willingly steps into. Something it can inhabit without needing her as a host."

Trench scrubbed a hand down his face. "And you're sure this'll work?"

"No," Darling admitted. "Not even slightly."

He turned to look at the Director directly, eyes wide behind cracked lenses.

"But it's better than waiting for it to finish… whatever it's doing inside her."

Another long pause.

Finally, Trench exhaled slow and rough. "What do you need?"

Darling blinked.

Then grinned — lopsided and exhausted and maybe a little mad.

"An isolated Threshold chamber. Portable resonance anchors. And every goddamn ounce of luck this cursed House can spare."

Trench nodded once.

"Then let's get to work."