But after my first night in this house, I knew I was wrong. My God … how could I have been so wrong?

I don’t remember climbing into bed, but I awoke buried in my blanket, shaking. From the cold or from lingering terror, I couldn’t tell.

The wind. The stinging cold. Those violent hands. Everything had felt so real, now all reduced to the memory of a nightmare.

I was almost too nervous to leave my room, but I was there to earn my keep, not huddle in bed all day. I dressed underneath the covers, then forced myself out into the open. A chill shot through my leg as I placed my foot on the ground. If I was going to survive the next few weeks here, I’d have to ask for warmer clothing. After my interaction with Mr. Rochester the night before, I doubted I’d get it.

I would ask Esjay. He seemed to be the only person with sense in this house.

I paused at the door, watching the hearth blaze. Someone had been in my room. I appreciated the heat, but the idea that someone could unlock the door and come in while I was sleeping scared me a little.

And I’d barricaded it, too. Wait, had I? Because the chair was in its original spot near the fire, as if I hadn’t touched it.

I rushed into the hall, only glancing at Mr. Rochester’s shut door before heading down the stairs. The steps were in perfect form. There was no rat horde, or hands either, thank God. All the spiritual activity in the house seemed quiet.

Still, I hadn’t signed the contract. There was still time to run.

Run back to what?

I needed the money. I had nowhere else to go except back to the street. But the thought of spending another Waking in this house petrified me, despite the amenities that came with living here. My first Waking all over again, amplified ten times over.

From now on I would stick to cleansing the house during the day.

I don’t know why, but when I turned the corner into the dining room I half expected to be greeted by a corpse. The memory of the last corpse I’d seen popped into my head. Jember had made me dig a hole—what he’d called “a character-building sport”—and when I followed him back later, I saw him dump in something very human-shaped wrapped in rough cloth. The curiosity had worn off quickly enough that I’d never gotten around to asking, and Jember wasn’t the type to kill and tell.

But there was nothing dead on the other side of the wall, unless one counted Peggy’s dead-eyed glare as she exited the kitchen.