Peter Grimwood was finally gone. Dead. The weight of his presence, once looming so heavily over us all, had lifted. A couple of days had passed now, and still no sign of Sam, still no sign of Peter… though the latter was expected after Shelta assured us he was dead. She said she'd tried to view his future, the way the Wicklows always did, but found nothing. It was like he didn't exist anymore, wiped from the weave of possibilities she could touch. And that finally let us breathe. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the choking fear of his inevitable return had loosened its grip.

How long had he terrorized us? Too long to measure in days or months… years? His hands had a grip on this family in ways that were unseen for a while now. It started with Allen… but it ended here… with Sam. His presence had become an insidious shadow, creeping into every thought, every plan. We had lived with the constant fear that he’d come for one of us, that he’d tear away someone else we loved without a second thought. The mere idea that he could take one of the people I cared for most had twisted my insides into knots that hadn’t loosened until now. But with him gone, we could finally breathe again.

The relief was real, but so was the aftermath. The house, the property… it was all a wreck. The wards, once sturdy protections, had been broken to lure him in. We had work to do, repairs to make, wards to mend. It felt like we were rebuilding more than just the land and our protections; we were piecing ourselves back together. Bringing together what was left of our family.

Peter's shadow stretched far across the city, and the damage he'd done was evident. Patrick, especially, seemed broken in a way I hadn’t thought possible. Ever since his father died, there had been something off about him. His eyes, once filled with a youthful spark, now looked sunken and hollow, like life had been slowly drained from him. But now, with Peter gone, it was worse… far worse. His face held the kind of exhaustion that ran deeper than sleepless nights. Maybe it was the relief of Peter being dead, the realization that the nightmare was over, and he was only now feeling everything he'd been bottling up. Whatever it was, he looked more lost than ever.

And Shelta... she had her own burdens to bear. Her family had been shattered. They’d lost Annabelle and Bartley. The two pillars of their family, the most reliable, the ones they always turned to. Gone. Now, it was up to Shelta to gather the pieces, to rebuild what Peter had torn up. She had to carry on, to be the one who held the family together when it seemed like there was nothing left to hold.

Patrick might help her one day. He had the bloodline, the potential to lead, to grow the family again. But looking at him now, I could tell that day was far off. The emptiness in his eyes and the sag in his posture. It wasn’t something that would heal overnight. He might recover, but not soon. And until then, Shelta would carry the weight of her family's future alone.

Zeke was dead… Kayla was still just as destroyed as well. Arthur was a seasoned hunter, and he wouldn’t let Zeke’s death stop him and his family. Although, there wasn’t much left of his family to hunt with. He might have to make a shift over to us… or to Uncle Chris. I shuttered at the thought. Once they knew the full details of what had happened, the deaths we had endured… the family would come again. I dreaded what they would say… especially about Sam. I tried not to think about it. A problem for another day.

Yet even in all this grief, stress, and loss, there was relief. Peter was dead. His reign of terror was over. It felt like we had finally clawed our way out from under the crushing weight of his shadow, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, the air was clear. We could move forward, even if the path ahead was full of wreckage. At least it was ours again.

We were hit with another death that no one expected. The police came knocking, looking for Autumn. After cleaning and recovering from the battle, we discovered Peter had detoured to Autumn's dorm room at the college. He had killed her roommate, Lindsey. That poor girl had no clue what had come into the safety of her home. The police didn't know what to make of it, as she had no signs of trauma, and her blood work came back clean. It was like she just dropped dead on the spot... but we knew. Peter had stolen her life. It was open and shut. The questions they had for Autumn weren’t born of suspicion, they were more informational. To try and figure out what they could learn about the poor girl, to see if there were any answers to why she just dropped dead. There wasn’t… none that would help her grieving family. But… why did Peter go there? He had to have known Autumn would never go it alone while such a threat lingered in the city. What was he doing there?

Autumn was a wreck, blaming herself. She was also slightly shaken that Peter had come for her specifically. She was just thankful she wasn’t there, but absolutely destroyed that her friend had been caught in the crossfire of our lives. Thankfully for us, Detective Ames intercepted the case and was able to mediate for us and assist us with any legal matters that might rear their head our way. I told him the truth, and it shook him to his core. To know there were things out there like Peter… people who could kill in a single touch had him shaken. He assured us that it was over, but warned Autumn to keep a low profile and answer if they came calling again. He’d help us through any further hoops we had to jump through.

A few days had passed since I’d seen Ames, and here I was, sinking into the worn leather of the living room recliner, a glass of 50-year-old whiskey cradled in my hand. It wasn’t just any whiskey… it was the good stuff. Something my dad had stashed away in the basement like a prized relic, reserved for a day that never quite came. I’d always thought Allen and I would crack it open together, some evening when the world wasn’t on fire, when we could just sit and enjoy it; father and son. But then Allen disappeared, and that bottle became one more reminder of what was lost. Now that he was back, I hadn’t even thought about it until now. Maybe we’d still share it one day, but tonight, I just needed to taste it. After everything that had happened… I needed it.

The smooth amber liquid glistened in the firelight, its rich scent mingling with the crackling warmth of the flames in the central fireplace. I raised the glass to my lips, savoring the sharp but smooth burn as it slid down my throat. The warmth spread, slowly relaxing muscles that had been tense for far too long. There was no rush, no urgent pull to fix something or save someone. For the first time in ages, I could simply… be.

So much had happened, too much to list without drowning in it all. Sam showing up out of nowhere, only for us to discover he wasn’t human. Thinking he was a threat, losing him, only to gain Allen back. The immortals… losing Eleanor… it all blurred together; a whirlwind of chaos. And Peter, of course. That final storm. The most recent in a long, cruel line of curses my family seemed destined to endure. But he was dead now… dead. Shelta had confirmed it. He was gone, wiped out of existence, no longer a shadow waiting to pounce. The relief that followed was intoxicating in its own right.

I felt lighter. We knew the truth about Sam, though I still had no idea what he was or where he’d gone. Yet, despite that, I felt closer to him now than I ever had. It was strange, feeling this bond with someone who had slipped away into the unknown, but it didn’t bother me. Not today. Today, I could relax.

The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the wood and the soft crackle of the fire. Eleanor and Autumn had spent most of the day in and out of their beds, recovering, finding their own way to the fragile peace we always seemed to live under. I let them rest. They needed it. We all did. So I sat there, feet up, sipping the whiskey slowly, watching the flames dance. I could feel the tension, the fear, and the exhaustion melting away with each sip.

The glass felt cool in my hand as I swirled the liquid, watching the reflections play in the firelight. I took another sip, savoring the taste. The burn was slight but welcome, a reminder that I was still here, still breathing, still alive. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the warm wave of relaxation wash over me, leaving me adrift in that rare, blissful space between thoughts. I had no cares at that moment, just the fire, the whiskey, and the simple pleasure of not having to fight for a moment.

I stared into the flames again, the flickering light hypnotizing me, pulling me deeper into that peaceful lull. Sip, breathe, stare at the fire. Rinse, repeat. It was nice.

Then, out of nowhere, the steady knock at the door broke through the stillness. Firm, deliberate. Someone’s knuckles rapping against the wood. I sighed, letting the glass hang at my side as I stood up, the peaceful haze slipping away with each step I took toward the door. I hoped, really hoped it wasn’t more bad news. Maybe it was Frank, coming by for a drink. Maybe it was something simple. Something easy. God knows we deserved a break.

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I meandered over, not in any rush, taking my time as I reached the door, bracing myself for whatever waited on the other side. But deep down, I just wanted the peace back, if only for a little while longer.

I opened the door, the comforting warmth of the whiskey still buzzing in my veins, and was met with a familiar face. It was Sam, but something wasn’t right. He stood there on the porch, the low light casting shadows across his features, and for a moment, I hesitated. My first instinct was to feel relieved. It was Sam, after all… but something felt… off.

Maybe it was just the alcohol muddling my senses. I blinked, trying to clear my head. His face was the same, his build roughly the same. But there was a subtle strangeness about him. His stance, maybe? The way he looked past me, his eyes scanning the room behind me like he was searching for something… someone. He didn’t speak, didn’t offer that familiar nod or smirk he’d usually greet me with. Just stood there, silent, gazing into the house like he wasn’t even sure it was the right place.

“Hey,” I finally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. My voice came out slower than I intended, the whiskey still working its magic on my speech. “You alright?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked to mine, but they didn’t hold the usual recognition, the easy familiarity. Instead, there was something unreadable in them. Cold, distant. He studied me as if I were a stranger, his brow furrowed slightly. My stomach churned, and a tight knot of confusion started to form.

“Did something happen?” I prompted again, my voice a little sharper now, trying to cut through the fog. “What’s going on?”

He cocked his head to the side, just a fraction like he was processing my words for the first time. His gaze lingered on my face, then drifted back to the house behind me. “This… is your house? Have you always lived here?” His voice was steady, but there was no recognition in it.

The knot in my gut twisted tighter. I glanced behind me, half-expecting to see something out of place, something that would explain this bizarre conversation. Nothing. The living room was just as it had been; fire crackling, whiskey bottle still resting on the side table. I turned back to him, my confusion deepening.

“Uh… yeah,” I answered slowly, each word feeling like it was dragged through molasses. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

He shifted his weight, still standing in the doorway, still acting like he didn’t recognize me at all. That same blank look, like he was speaking to someone he’d just met. I felt a prickle of unease crawl up my spine.

“I’m looking for someone,” he said finally, his voice a bit softer now, but still detached. “A guy… named Seth.”

My blood ran cold.

Seth? I didn’t know a Seth. Who was it, and why did Sam come to me to find them? “Are they some kind of creature? Can you not find them on your own?”

The stiffness in his posture. The way he looked at me like he didn’t know me at all. “Creature…” his face was a twist of confusion. He had no clue what I meant.

This was not Sam.

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against my ribs as I looked closer, really looked at him. The sharpness of his jawline and the slight difference in his frame and stature. How had I missed it? My mouth went dry, and for a moment, I couldn’t find the words. This looked like Sam… but it wasn’t. This was Seth… Sam’s twin brother. How had he found this place?

“Seth?” I breathed, barely audible, my mind reeling. “Don’t know any Seth…” I played it cool.

He tilted his head again, a small smirk playing on his lips now, the first sign of any real emotion. “Clever.” His voice was laced with a mocking edge, one that sent a shiver through me. He glanced down at the threshold, then stepped forward, just enough to close the distance between us. “So, you do know who I am.”

I took a step back instinctively, my hand tightening around the doorframe. The easygoing atmosphere from the day-drinking shattered in an instant. The warmth of the whiskey in my stomach was replaced by an icy pit of dread.

“Whoa man… who the fuck do you think you are?” I asked, trying to keep my voice in character, trying to seem like a surprised civilian.

Seth's expression didn't change, but there was a flicker in his eyes; something unsure. He took another step forward, his presence suddenly feeling suffocating, like he was forcing his way into the space even though he hadn’t crossed the threshold.

“That’s what I’m here to find out,” he said casually, but there was nothing casual about the way his gaze bore into me. “You wouldn’t happen to know, would you? Anyone else around here going by the name of Seth Roberts?”

The question felt like a trap. I didn’t know where Sam was. Hell, I hadn’t seen him in days, and now I was standing here, face-to-face with his twin, feeling like I was inches from disaster. Why did he think someone was using his name?

“Look, son,” I said, my voice calm, steady. “I don’t know anyone named Seth. Why are you here? Maybe I can help you.” I kept my tone casual, doing my best to sound like a clueless bystander. My heart was pounding beneath my calm exterior, but I couldn’t let him see that. I needed him to believe me.

For a moment, he just stood there, staring at me, like he was trying to figure out if I was telling the truth. His brow furrowed, the weight of his thoughts pulling his face tight, but then something shifted. He dropped his gaze to the ground, and a sigh slipped out, long and heavy.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, the word barely audible, but I could hear the frustration seeping through. His shoulders sagged, and I could feel the tension between us easing, loosening its grip.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, feeling the tightness in my neck and back slowly start to fade. Maybe this would end here… maybe he was ready to drop it. But then, just as I started to think I was in the clear, he spoke again.

“Someone used my name,” he began, his voice lower now, more defeated than before. “My passport… and this address. Booked a flight out of the country.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his frustration palpable. “Someone stole my identity.” He glanced up at me, his eyes searching mine for any flicker of recognition, any sign that I knew more than I was letting on. “I just want to find out who did it, and why they used this address…”

I kept my expression neutral, even as his words sank in, as the pieces of his story clicked together in my head. This wasn’t just a random visit, wasn’t a simple misunderstanding. He was looking for something and the trail had led him straight to my doorstep.

“You sure,” Seth continued, his voice steady now, but laced with suspicion, “there’s no one in there with you that goes by the name Seth?”

I froze for half a second, the question hanging in the air like a live wire. I shook my head slowly, forcing a slight smile, trying to sell the lie. “No one, man. It’s just me, my wife, and daughter. No Seths here.” I gestured behind me toward the empty living room, hoping the casual motion would be enough to convince him.

But his eyes lingered on me, sharp, calculating. The way he looked past me, toward the shadows inside the house, sent a chill down my spine. He wasn’t convinced. Not entirely.

I only had one thought in that brief moment. Get him out of here. Now!

I could feel the pressure mounting, the air thick with unspoken words. My heart hammered in my chest, the seconds stretching out, each one an eternity. Sam’s secrets were too dangerous. This was too close.

Before Seth could say anything else, I stepped forward, forcing a casual chuckle that felt too thin, too hollow. “Look, man,” I said quickly, my words tumbling over each other. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, but if someone stole your identity, the cops are the ones you should be talking to, not me. I don’t have anything to do with this.”

Seth’s expression darkened, but I didn’t give him time to push further. “Seriously,” I added, my voice more insistent now, “you’re barking up the wrong tree here. I’ve got nothing to do with it.” I had a stray thought that tacked onto my last statement, “I own a large construction company, and this address is common knowledge there. I have all sorts of old employees I’ve fired over the years that were into some shady shit. It's possible someone used my address simply because they knew it. Or… this is just a coincidence."

There was a pause. I could feel his doubt hanging in the air, heavy between us. He hesitated, his eyes lingering on the open doorway. I wasn’t sure what he was waiting for, but I wasn’t going to give him the chance to figure it out.

I stepped forward again, my hand gripping the door a little tighter. “Look, I’ve got stuff to do,” I said, my tone firm. “If you want answers, go to the authorities, but I can’t help you. I don’t know any Seths, and I sure as hell don’t know anything about stolen passports.”

Seth glanced back at me, his jaw tight. I could see the storm of frustration building in his eyes, but he stayed silent.

I had to act. I couldn’t risk him digging any deeper. “Listen,” I added, my voice steady, “I’m sorry for what happened to you, but this isn’t the place for answers. You’re wasting time here.”

Seth’s eyes flickered with something: disappointment, frustration, maybe a mix of both… but he didn’t argue. He exhaled sharply, and then, finally, he stepped back, his hands dropping to his sides. “You know… maybe you’re right. The police back home could do nothing since you live in another state. I figured I could just drive out here and see what’s what. I guess I'll head into town and see what the St. Louis PD think…” Seth threatened. “In any case… this isn’t over.”

He finished speaking quickly and turned to leave without ceremony. I didn’t shut the door until I was sure he was gone, his figure disappearing into the cab of a truck that soon backed out of the driveway. Someone else was inside with him… but I couldn’t make out if it was a man or a woman. But… Sam’s family had caught a whiff of something Sam had done. He had to have been the one. Once they backed out of our driveway and drove out, I felt my fingers loosen their grip on the doorknob. Only then did I exhale, the tension in my chest easing slightly. It was over… for now.

I ran up the stairs and bounded down the hallway to my room. I saw Eleanor there sleeping. I woke her quickly, jarring her awake, “We have a huge problem!"

Eleanor opened her eyes shakily. She was in a panic for a few seconds like someone else's life was in danger. “What’s wrong?”