She paused in the doorway. Looked at me with something that might have been pity.
"I wouldn't recommend it, dear."
Then she left.
That was four hours ago.
I've been lying here ever since, staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence.
It's so quiet here.
Nothing like the Sanctuary, where you could always hear something—people moving, animals in the barn, the wind through the trees.
Here, there's just... nothing.
Like the whole world has been muffled.
Like I've been buried alive in luxury.
I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed.
I'm still wearing the white dress.
Mrs. Silva offered me nightclothes—silk pajamas in a drawer—but I couldn't bring myself to change.
Couldn't bring myself to accept anything from this place.
Couldn't admit I'm staying.
Even though I am.
For now.
My feet sink into the carpet as I stand.
I go to the window and pull back the heavy curtains.
Darkness.
Nothing but darkness and the vague shapes of trees against a slightly less dark sky.
No lights. No houses. No roads.
Just forest.
I don't know where I am.
Don't know how far we drove after the boat.
I fell asleep in the car—exhausted from fear and adrenaline crash—and woke up here.
Trapped.
I try the window.
It's locked.
Not just locked—sealed somehow.
