104
My fingers curled around the knob, damp with sweat, my heartbeat rattling against my ribs as I twisted it, bracing myself for resistance. For nothing. For failure. For the confirmation that Adeline had locked me in, maybe to keep me from making a mistake, maybe to teach me something, maybe because she knew I would try this. But the lock gave way, the soft click barely reaching my ears, and suddenly my breath was too loud, my pulse too fast, a rush of heat spreading through my chest like I had been caught before I had even done anything. I waited for something, for a sound, for a hand grabbing my wrist, for the door to slam shut on its own, but nothing happened. Just the sound of my own breathing, sharp and uneven. I hesitated for just a second before pushing the door open slowly, inch by inch, and then yanking it the rest of the way, expecting—no, half-daring—something to be there. A shadow. A figure. A warning. But the hallway was empty, nothing waiting for me, and I felt fucking stupid for thinking otherwise.
I stepped outside.
The floor was cold, biting against my bare feet, sending a shiver crawling up my legs. The air was stale, too still, the silence wrapping around me in a way that felt wrong. The lights along the ceiling were dim, spaced apart too evenly, casting just enough glow to see but not enough to feel safe. The walls stretched out in either direction, smooth, pale, unmarked. Nothing was out of place. No signs of life. No sounds beyond the distant hum of something electrical running somewhere unseen.
Not a single person.
It almost made me laugh.
It was absurd, really. How they all followed the same schedule, the same routine, never breaking it, never hesitating. Sleeping at the same time. Eating at the same time. Moving at the same time. Even at dinner, the way they lifted their spoons in unison, the way they chewed, the way they didn’t look anywhere but straight ahead, like they had been trained for this, like they didn’t even think about it. Like hesitation wasn’t an option.
I should have felt relieved. But I didn’t.
I scanned the hallway, my fingers twitching at my sides as my eyes darted to the corners, searching for cameras, for a lens, for a blinking light, for anything watching me. But there was nothing. No glassy dots mounted on the ceiling, no wires running along the walls, nothing. That should have been good. That should have made me feel safer. But places like this didn’t need cameras to watch you. They had eyes everywhere. Hidden. Waiting. Always waiting.
I turned my head left. Then right. Checked behind me. Ahead of me.
Still nothing.
I moved.
Slow at first, barely making a sound, my steps light, careful, my breath shallow and controlled, the way you breathe when you don’t want to be heard, when you don’t want anyone to know you exist. Every step felt like too much, every shift of weight too loud, but I kept going. One foot in front of the other. My arms stiff at my sides. My skin crawled with the awareness that I was somewhere I shouldn’t be.
And then I picked up the pace.
A little faster.
My heart hammering harder, my stomach tightening, my legs pushing me forward. The hallway felt longer, the lights stretching further apart, the shadows creeping in between them like they were getting thicker, like they were watching. I reached the corner, my fingers brushing against the wall as I turned, and then something inside me snapped.
Run.
I didn’t think.
I didn’t hesitate.
I ran.
My feet slapped against the floor, my arms pumping at my sides, my breath cutting out in sharp, fast pulls that barely filled my lungs. The walls blurred past me, the air growing warmer, heavier, pressing against me. Every muscle in my body screamed, burned, but I didn’t slow down. I couldn’t. My throat was dry, raw, the taste of adrenaline thick on my tongue. I clenched my jaw, forced myself to swallow down every sound, every noise that threatened to slip out. I couldn’t afford to be loud. I couldn’t afford to be caught.
Swiftly, I rounded the corner, my legs barely slowing, my chest rising and falling so fast it felt like my lungs couldn’t keep up. My throat was tight, burning, but I forced myself forward, expecting—no, bracing—for someone to be there. Adeline. Clarisa. Maybe both. Maybe worse. Maybe I had miscalculated everything, maybe this was a mistake, maybe I was already caught, already trapped. But when I turned, all that met me was more empty space, more suffocating silence, and the hallway stretching forward, endless. The lights in this part were off, completely swallowed by the dark, except for something flickering ahead—red, blinking in and out, pulsing like a heartbeat. Every time it flashed, the blackness peeled back for just a second, bathing the hallway in neon red before snapping away again, leaving behind afterimages, shapes that weren’t really there. But they looked real. For a second, they looked so real. My breath hitched. My steps faltered. My eyes flicked to the walls, convinced that something—someone—was moving, shadows stretching, shifting, waiting, following. It was the flickering light. Just the light. But my pulse wouldn’t slow, my skin prickling like something was breathing down my neck, like the darkness itself was alive and closing in.
I slowed.
The sprint turned into a jog, the jog into a walk, my footsteps uneven as I swallowed, my throat raw, my head spinning from the way my heart slammed into my chest, refusing to settle. I forced a slow breath through my nose, let it out through my lips, steadying myself as I looked ahead. Where the fuck was I going? Where was the exit? I had seen it once. I had followed Clarisa through these halls, listened to her voice, nodded when she pointed out where everything was, but it was all tangled up now, blurred together in my head. Every turn looked the same, every hallway stretched out too long, too identical. I tried to remember. Forced myself to focus. It was to the left, wasn’t it? Or had it been straight, past the dining hall? But that didn’t seem right either.
Then the hall split into two.
I stopped.
My breath came harder, heavier, as I turned my head, looking left, looking right, trying to remember, trying to dig through the mess in my mind. Left. I had seen a staircase on the left before, hadn’t I? Or was it past the right hallway? My palms were damp, my fingers curling and uncurling as I stood there, shifting on my feet, looking over my shoulder once, twice. I didn’t know why I expected someone to be there. I didn’t hear anything. I didn’t feel anything. But still, the paranoia crawled up my spine, made my skin feel too tight, too hot, like something was wrong. I swallowed again, dragging in another breath before pushing myself forward, making a decision. Left. It had to be left.
I moved quickly.
The hallway narrowed, stretched further than I expected, and as I walked, the flickering red light disappeared behind me. The farther I went, the less light there was, the air growing stale, the darkness deepening, pressing closer. I looked over my shoulder again, just to check, just to be sure—
And a hand grabbed my wrist.
I didn’t hear them. I didn’t see them. One second I was alone, the next there was something on me, something real, something solid, something warm and too strong and pulling. My heart slammed into my throat so violently I thought I might choke on it, my stomach twisting, the panic surging through my veins so fast my mind barely had time to process what was happening. My breath locked in my chest, the air cutting off completely, my body reacting before my brain could, every muscle snapping tight, my pulse hammering so loud I couldn’t hear anything else. My throat closed up, a scream caught halfway before I could even make a sound, my vision tunneling for just a second as my body jerked back, every nerve firing at once, the instinct to fight, to rip away, to run, to do something taking over before my mind caught up. My breath came in sharp, fast bursts, my skin burning where the grip held me, firm, unrelenting, stopping me in place, stopping me cold—
And I turned.
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