The storm started just after midnight.

Rain hammered against the mansion windows hard enough to shake the glass, and thunder rolled across the sky like furniture dragging above the ceiling of the world.

Ivy woke instantly.

Not slowly.

Not confused.

Wide awake.

Her body reacted before her brain caught up.

She sat upright too fast, breath catching hard in her throat while lightning flashed white across the bedroom walls.

Another thunderclap cracked overhead.

The sound slammed straight through her chest.

“No,” she whispered immediately.

Rain lashed harder outside.

The room suddenly felt smaller.

Too dark.

Too quiet between the thunder.

Ivy shoved the blankets aside and climbed out of bed, pacing once toward the window before stopping halfway there.

Bad idea.

Very bad idea.

Lightning split the sky again.

The glass rattled violently.

And suddenly—

she wasn’t twenty-two anymore.

She was eight.

Small apartment.

Broken heater.

Her mother screaming downstairs.

Her father slamming doors hard enough to shake the walls.

Thunder outside.

Glass breaking inside.

Ivy pressed both hands hard against her temples.

“No. No, no—”

Another crash exploded overhead.

Her breathing broke apart instantly.

Too fast now.

Too shallow.

The bedroom walls blurred strangely around the edges.

Ivy crossed toward the bathroom sink and twisted the faucet on with shaking hands. Cold water splashed across her fingers.

Didn’t help.

Thunder rolled again.

Closer.

She stumbled backward from the sink.

Her chest tightened painfully.

Air wouldn’t settle properly inside her lungs.

“Okay,” she whispered hoarsely. “Okay, okay…”

The room tilted slightly.

Ivy grabbed the edge of the dresser before her knees betrayed her completely.

The panic came fast after that.

Too fast.

Every breath turned thinner than the last.

Rain hammered the windows.

Lightning flashed again.

The storm outside blended violently with old memories inside her head until she couldn’t separate one from the other anymore.

Her mother crying in the kitchen.

Her father yelling.

Thunder outside the apartment building.

Eight-year-old Ivy hiding beside Rosie inside the closet while dishes shattered somewhere beyond the door.

The memory slammed into her so hard she doubled over.

“Oh God—”

A sharp knock hit the bedroom door.

Ivy flinched violently.

“Ivy?”

Lucien.

Of course.

Her breathing only got worse.

Another knock.

“Ivy.”

The handle moved slightly.

Locked.

Good.

Ivy pressed herself harder against the dresser and tried desperately to pull air properly into her lungs.

Couldn’t.

Her vision blurred.

The storm crashed overhead again.

Then Lucien’s voice came through the door quieter this time.

“Open the door.”

“No.”

The word came out broken.

Embarrassing.

She covered her mouth immediately afterward.

Silence followed.

Then:

“You’re crying.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You can barely breathe.”

“I’m fine.”

Lightning flashed again.

The thunder afterward shook the walls hard enough that Ivy nearly dropped to the floor.

A horrible sound escaped her throat.

The silence outside the door changed instantly.

Lucien tried the handle again.

Locked.

“Ivy.”

Something sharp moved beneath his voice now.

Not anger.

Urgency.

“I need you to open the door.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I look insane.”

Another pause.

Then quietly:

“I’ve seen worse.”

Despite everything—

despite the panic clawing through her chest—

a weak laugh almost escaped her.

Almost.

Thunder crashed again.

That destroyed it immediately.

Ivy slid down against the dresser onto the floor and curled tighter around herself.

The room spun harder now.

Her fingers had gone numb.

“I can’t—” Her breathing hitched badly. “I can’t stop it.”

Silence outside the door.

Then the sound of Lucien sitting down slowly against the other side of it.

The movement reached her faintly through the wood.

Interesting.

Very strange.

He didn’t leave.

Rain hammered against the windows harder.

Lucien spoke again after a moment.

Low.

Steady.

“Look at something.”

“What?”

“Anything.”

Ivy squeezed her eyes shut harder.

“Doesn’t work.”

“Try.”

Another thunderclap rolled across the mansion.

Ivy flinched violently.

Her nails dug into her sleeves.

“Tell me what you see,” Lucien said quietly.

“I hate you.”

“Not what I asked.”

“The dresser.”

“Good.”

His voice stayed calm.

Controlled.

Not cold this time.

“Keep going.”

“The lamp.”

Thunder growled outside again.

“The chair.”

“Good.”

Ivy pressed her forehead harder against her knees.

Rain streaked violently across the windows.

Her chest still hurt.

Still too tight.

But the room had stopped spinning quite so hard.

Lucien remained silent for a while.

Then:

“Storms?”

Ivy laughed weakly under her breath.

“Wow. Detective work.”

“You’re shaking the walls.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“You’re sitting on the floor crying.”

Silence.

Then softer:

“That’s not dramatic.”

The words landed strangely gently through the door.

Ivy wiped angrily at her face.

“Hate this.”

Lucien didn’t answer immediately.

When he finally spoke again, his voice sounded lower.

Rougher somehow.

“I know.”

The storm continued raging outside.

But the room felt different now.

Less trapped.

Less alone.

Ivy leaned her head weakly back against the dresser.

“You ever have panic attacks?”

Silence.

Long enough that she thought he wouldn’t answer.

Then:

“No.”

“Oh. Cool. Nice for you.”

“But I know what fear does to the body.”

The answer came carefully.

Measured.

Like each word passed through something sharp before reaching her.

Ivy stared toward the door.

“Were you scared during storms as a kid?”

Another silence.

Then quietly:

“No.”

A beat passed.

“I was scared of other things.”

The honesty in that sentence surprised her enough to cut briefly through the panic.

Lucien almost never volunteered pieces of himself.

Not real ones.

Another thunderclap rolled overhead.

Ivy flinched automatically—

but less this time.

Her breathing still shook.

Still uneven.

But no longer breaking apart completely.

“You wanna know the stupid part?” she muttered.

Lucien stayed quiet.

“That usually means yes.”

“When I was little, I used to count seconds between lightning and thunder.”

“Why?”

“My mom told me storms sounded farther away if you counted.” Ivy rubbed tiredly at her face. “Which is obviously fake science.”

“It distracted you.”

“Yeah.”

Rain tapped steadily against the windows now.

The worst of the thunder had started drifting farther away.

Lucien spoke again after a moment.

“Count.”

Ivy frowned weakly toward the door.

“What?”

“Next lightning strike.”

Another flash lit the room pale white.

Ivy inhaled shakily.

“One…”

Thunder rolled faintly afterward.

Not as violent now.

“See?” Lucien said quietly. “Farther away.”

A tiny laugh escaped her this time.

Real.

Exhausted.

Still real.

“You’re manipulating weather science.”

“It appears effective.”

“You’re unbelievably weird.”

“You burned fish.”

“That feels unrelated.”

Silence settled again.

But softer now.

The kind that didn’t suffocate.

Ivy leaned her head sideways against the dresser and stared toward the bedroom door.

Lucien remained on the other side.

She could hear nothing from him except occasional faint movement against the wood.

Still there.

Still sitting outside her room at nearly three in the morning.

The realization settled strangely in her chest.

“You could’ve left,” she murmured sleepily.

“No.”

“Why?”

Another long pause.

Then:

“You sounded afraid.”

The answer hit harder than she expected.

No games.

No sarcasm.

Just truth.

Ivy closed her eyes slowly.

The storm outside had weakened into steady rain now.

Her body felt drained.

Heavy.

The panic finally releasing its grip inch by inch.

“You know what’s annoying?” she murmured quietly.

“What?”

“You’re a much nicer person through doors.”

For the first time in hours—

Lucien laughed softly outside her room.

Low.

Brief.

Warm enough to make her chest ache unexpectedly.

Ivy smiled weakly against her sleeve.

Then exhaustion pulled her under before she could stop it.

—

Morning light slipped pale across the bedroom floor hours later.

Ivy woke slowly this time.

No thunder.

No panic.

Only rainwater dripping softly outside.

She blinked toward the door.

And froze.

The shadow remained there beneath the crack at the bottom.

Lucien was still sitting outside her room.