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Then Mama Edna spoke. Her voice was dry, thin, almost swallowed by age.
“I remember everything.” A ripple moved through the yard. Not loud.
Not visible. But felt. Silas smiled as if he had just been handed a locked box and finally found the key.
“Good,” he said softly. “Then you’ll remember this too.” He raised his hand.
The patrollers tightened their grip on Isaiah and Ruth. And something in the air shifted again, heavier this time, as if the world itself was bracing.
But then— A sound. Not from the yard. From inside the main house.
A glass shattering. Silas turned sharply. Another crash followed. Then another.
Rapid. Irregular. Like something moving through the house with intention.
Whispers broke out among the enslaved workers. Confusion. Fear. Hope they didn’t dare name.
Silas’s jaw tightened. “Search it.” Two patrollers rushed inside. The seconds that followed stretched unnaturally long.
Too long for something simple. Too short for anything to be understood.
Then— A scream. Followed by running footsteps. Followed by shouting.
And then the two patrollers stumbled back out of the house, one clutching his arm, the other pale as ash.
“There’s nothing there,” one of them blurted. “Nothing, sir. But—something’s been moving through the rooms.
Doors opening. Closets empty. Like someone—like someone is inside but not there.”
Silas stared at them with a stillness that made the yard colder.
Then slowly, his eyes returned to Mama Edna. And this time, they were no longer amused.
“You,” he said. Not a question. A recognition. Mama Edna didn’t move.
Didn’t speak. But something inside her shifted, subtle as breath turning into wind.
Because Silas was no longer looking at a broken old woman.
He was looking at a pattern. And patterns could be followed.
Silas stepped forward until he was close enough that his shadow swallowed her completely.
“You think I didn’t notice?” He said quietly. “The hinges.
The grain. The animals. The timing of every failure.” His voice dropped lower.
“You weren’t chaos. You were direction.” Ruth made a small sound behind him, but Silas didn’t turn.
His attention was locked entirely on Mama Edna now, like the rest of the world had been stripped away.
“And last night,” he continued, “you weren’t in your mat.”