𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐘. ˢᵗᵉᵛᵉ ʰᵃʳʳⁱⁿᵍᵗᵒⁿ

⠀⠀64. BLACK WIDOW'S WEB

Rory noticed that from the inside, the stained glass colors remained intact, probably lit by the sunlight from outside. It was almost an analogy: from the outside, the curse looked dead, a closed case, but in truth, it had always been awake in the heart of that town.

It felt strange—more real—to stand there again. But the scene was utterly different now, and the darkness numbed her body, as if to shield her from the physical consequences of the memories her mind had stolen from Victor Creel.

Steve, noticing Rory frozen in place, placed a hand on her shoulder to steady her, making sure she wasn't slipping into her own head or on the verge of another fainting spell.

"Looks like they forgot to pay the power bill," Sinclair joked, trying to switch on a lamp by the entrance. His voice, though playful, carried a genuine edge.

If not for their flashlights cutting dense beams through the dusty air, the only light inside would have been the faint natural glow slipping between the boarded-up windows, painting the room in a soft bluish hue.

They took in the living room. "They just left everything," Nancy observed, a little desolate.

"They left in a rush. And I doubt anyone had the stomach to sell or buy the furniture from this place," Rory added, the words bringing back memories of the Creels' last days in that house.

"I guess a triple homicide isn't good for resale value," Robin scoffed.

"Facts," Rory said with a double blink.

"Hey, guys?" Max's voice echoed, drawing everyone's attention as they turned to find her. "You all see that?"

"Yeah," came the reply. She understood Max needed confirmation—it came from her visions. She feared she was going schizophrenic.

"Déjà vus? From your visions?" Rory asked softly, laying a hand on her stepsister's shoulder. Max nodded, swallowing hard, eyes locked forward without a blink.

Rory hated seeing her little sister like this—bearing a weight too heavy, haunted by death clawing at her back, digging into her skin. Her own eyes stung as bitter tears welled up.

"Why is this wizard obsessed with clocks?" Steve asked, baffled.

"Or maybe with time, not just clocks." Rory turned her head quickly toward him, hair swaying, trying to shake away the dark thoughts.

"Maybe he's, like, a clockmaker or something."

Silence lingered. Rory Hargrove wished she could read every mind in the room, to know what that comment had sparked in them.

"I think you cracked the case, Steve," Dustin mocked, clearly. Rory smiled at the boys, biting her tongue in amusement, but couldn't resist defending her boyfriend.

"All ideas are welcome, Dusty. Don't break Stevie's train of thought. His instincts never fail..."

Steve rolled his eyes—he could hear the teasing in her voice—but stretched his hand to tickle her neck anyway. It worked. She shoved him back with stealthy ninja-like precision. He couldn't help but laugh.

They were still playing when Nancy spoke.

"All I know is the answers are here. Somewhere. Okay—everyone in pairs. Robin, upstairs."

Whoa. Rory frowned, ego stung that Nancy so quickly picked her favorite partner-in-crime, as if this were some school project.

Still, it worked out—she got to stay with Steve. She turned to him with a bright smile, melting as he returned it. He loved the way adrenaline lit her up. Made her alive.