The House of Mors was colder than any place Jake had ever been.
Not physically—though the air was sharp and dry—but spiritually. The walls hummed. Whispered. Breathed. Every step felt like he was trespassing into a mausoleum where the dead listened more intently than the living.
Liora—Hafsa—walked ahead of him. Her posture was stiff but proud, chin lifted, steps measured. But Jake could see the cracks beneath the surface: her fingers trembled, her breath came too shallow, and she kept glancing at the shadows.
It stung to realise he didn't know her at all.
The corridor widened into a grand hall carved in black stone veined with silver. Torches burned with pale blue fire, and at the far end, a massive obsidian door stood with the sigil of Mors etched into its surface.
Two figures stood before it.
Both young, both strikingly beautiful, both dressed in ceremonial armour made for royalty. The man—her older brother, Amr— was suffocating: tall, rigid, his eyes sharp like polished steel. The woman—her sister, Salma— was colder, indifferent in a way that made the air feel thinner around Jake.
The moment Liora approached, Salma's lips curled.
"Well," she said, voice sharp as a blade. "Look who decided to crawl home."
Liora froze. Jake watched her shoulders lift infinitesimally—a reflexive brace—before she forced herself to keep walking.
"Move," she said quietly. "I need to see Father."
Amr stepped forward, blocking her path entirely. "And why," he said, "should the runt be allowed to enter the Sanctum after vanishing for three years?"
Jake's stomach twisted. Runt?
Liora didn't react outwardly, but he could see the flinch in her eyes. "I have a right to see him," she said, voice tight. "I'm still his daughter."
"Barely." Salma leaned in. "You forfeited that right the moment you ran away."
"I had to."
A harsh laugh echoed through the hall. "You always say that, Hafsa. You always have to.' You have to disobey. You have to abandon. You have to shame us."
Liora's jaw tightened. Jake had never seen her like this—small, cornered, and furious all at once.
Amr shifted his attention to Jake, eyes narrowing. "And who," he asked, "is this?"
Liora stepped between them so fast the air cracked. "Don't look at him."
"Oh?" Salma taunted. "We're not allowed to look at your little stray? Did you adopt a peasant while you were gone?"
Jake's cheeks burned. He clenched his fists.
Liora looked ready to explode. "Leave him out of this."
"And why should we?" Amr smirked. "Maybe Father will enjoy hearing how you brought an outsider into the Sanctum."
"Or maybe," Salma added, "we should interrogate him first. His presence is suspicious."
Jake felt cold. Suddenly, it was him they were assessing—measuring—judging. He hated it.
"I said," Liora hissed, "Leave. Him. Alone."
Her aura slipped. A faint, dark shimmer rippled around her, like an unseen veil snapping loose. The torches flickered violently. The floor vibrated in warning.
Jake stepped back instinctively. Her siblings did not.
"So the little ghost tries to bare her teeth," Salma murmured. "How sweet."
It happened fast. Liora raised her hand—fingers curved into a sigil shape.
It wasn't beautiful. It was terrifying.
"Sister." Amr's voice sharpened. "She's losing control."
"No," Jake whispered, heart hammering. "Liora—don't—"
Her siblings watched her trembling hand with smug satisfaction. They weren't afraid. They were mocking her.
"You always were weak," Salma said softly.
The spell flared. Darkness spiralled outward, winding like grave-dust and cold entropy around Liora's arm—
Jake grabbed her wrist. He wasn't stopping the spell; he was stopping her from proving their point.
Light snapped back into place. Her breath hitched—like someone yanked her out of drowning water—and the spell bled away into nothing.
Silence.
Her siblings smirked. "Still predictable," they said in unison.
And without another word, they turned their backs and walked away.
Jake's grip on her wrist loosened slowly.
Liora stared at the floor, shoulders shaking once—not with fear, not with rage… but with humiliation.
"Don't look at me like that," she whispered.
Jake froze. He hadn't realised he was looking at her differently. Judgment. Fear. Confusion. He couldn't hide it.
"Liora…" he began.
"Not here," she cut him off, voice raw. "Please."
She walked quickly down another corridor, and Jake followed even though every instinct screamed that he was walking behind a stranger.
They entered a smaller room—dim, quiet, with stone chairs and a single torch burning low. When she turned to face him, her eyes shone with something too heavy to name.
"I can explain," she said.
Jake didn't speak. He waited.
She took a breath, steadying herself. "My name is Hafsa Al-Samawi. I didn't tell you because… because I didn't want you to see me as them. As royalty. As a monster."
Jake swallowed. "You lied."
"I didn't lie—I—" She closed her eyes. "Yes. I lied. But only because I didn't want you to look at me like you did today."
Jake winced.
She continued, voice trembling now. "You don't understand what it means to be born into Death. You don't understand what my family is. I left because they wanted to shape me into a weapon. A perfect heir to the Mors Arcana. Someone who obeys without question."
Jake's jaw tightened. "And you didn't trust me with that?"
Her breath hitched. "Jake—it wasn't about trust. It was about—"
"It feels like trust," he snapped before he could stop himself.
Liora flinched. He didn't mean to sound cruel. But something in him had cracked the moment her siblings called him a stray.
"You know everything about me," Jake said, voice quieter but sharper. "About my life. My grandma. My past. You walked into it like you belonged there."
"I'm sorry—"
"But I don't know anything about yours."
Her eyes filled—not with tears, but with something worse: resignation. "I wanted you to see me as Liora," she whispered. "Not as Hafsa. Not as the daughter of Death. Not as the girl who ran away because she was too afraid to stay."
Jake turned away. He wasn't angry at her. He was angry at the world she came from. How small it made him feel. How large it made her feel. Like they no longer stood on the same ground. Like he had lost her to a life he couldn't even comprehend.
"Jake…" she whispered.
But he couldn't look at her. Not because he hated her. Because he didn't know where she ended and her past began.
And because, for the first time since this nightmare started, he felt truly, painfully alone.