Mavis stepped into the fading afternoon, the mist now thinner but no less heavy. Ashenbrook’s sky was the color of tin, and the wind carried the scent of coal and wilting leaves. She pulled her coat tighter around her and started the familiar walk home past the crumbling bakery with its soot-covered windows, past the notice board still advertising a dance that had been canceled two winters ago.

Her boots scuffed the gravel as she turned down Maple Hollow, where the houses leaned like old men in conversation. At the corner stood a gate wrapped in ivy and rose thorns, and beyond it, a crooked cottage that smelled faintly of lavender and ash.

Mavis slowed. Her eyes landed on the porch.

Nana sat in her rocking chair, knitting something in thick gray yarn. Mittens, her large white cat, lounged at her feet like royalty. The old woman looked up as Mavis approached.

“You’ve got that look again,” Nana said before Mavis could speak.

“What look?”

“The one that says the world’s been chewing on you all day but hasn’t quite finished the job.”

Mavis allowed a small smile the kind she reserved only for Nana.

“I passed today’s test,” she said softly. “Didn’t cry once.”

Nana chuckled, setting her knitting aside. “That’s not nothing.”

She motioned toward the chair beside her, and Mavis sat, exhaling like she hadn’t since morning. Mittens lifted his head briefly to acknowledge her, then promptly went back to sleep.

The porch was warm, somehow — or maybe it was just the way Nana made space for silence without needing to fill it. The town noises dulled here. Even the wind softened.

“I saw Mrs. Luminari today,” Mavis murmured. “She asked if I felt safe at home.”

Nana’s needles paused mid-stitch. “And what did you say?”

Mavis hesitated. “I told the truth.”

Nana nodded. “Good. People who carry weight in silence tend to break in dangerous ways.”

There was a long pause. Then, “You can always come here, you know. If it ever becomes too much.”

“I know,” Mavis said. But they both understood that “too much” could still stretch endlessly.

The sun had dipped behind the rooftops, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. Mavis stood.

“I should go,” she said. “If I’m late again, she’ll…”

“I know,” Nana said gently.

As Mavis turned down the path, she heard the creak of the rocking chair resume. Mittens let out a low meow, almost like a warning.

She walked faster

The house on Vesper Lane loomed like a sickness.

Gray-bricked. Lopsided. Its windows stared like dead eyes. She stood at the door for a moment, hand on the knob, bracing herself.

Inside, the smell hit first sour alcohol, scorched onions, damp wood.

“Where have you been?” Viletta’s voice, sharp and coiled, slithered from the kitchen.

“School,” Mavis replied, stepping in cautiously.

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You were late this morning. Again. And I know you stopped somewhere after. You always come back with that smug silence like you’ve been forgiven for something.”

“I just stopped to say hello to Nana.”

Viletta emerged, eyes rimmed red, a cigarette burning between two fingers. “That old crow again. She fills your head with pity and poison. You’d be better off never speaking to her again.”

Mavis opened her mouth, then closed it.

“What? You have something to say now?” Viletta asked, stepping closer.

“No, ma’am.”

“Good. Because if I hear one more word of backtalk, I swear I’ll” Her voice cut off, and she flicked her cigarette into the sink.

“You think you’re better than this place. Better than me. But you’re not. You’re just like your father soft and useless.”

Mavis said nothing.

Her nails dug into her palms, but her voice stayed calm. “May I go to my room?”

Viletta didn’t answer. Just stared at her with narrowed eyes before waving her off like smoke.

Mavis turned, walked up the stairs, and didn’t let herself run.

Inside her room, she shut the door quietly, leaned against it, and let the tension drain from her bones. Her bag slipped from her shoulder and hit the floor with a soft thud.

She moved to the corner, where the wallpaper had begun to peel and the floorboard groaned like a warning. Sitting with her back to the wall, knees tucked into her chest, she finally allowed herself to exhale.

No tears. Not yet. Not tonight.

Just silence.

And survival.