I shivered. “What are they talking about?”
One of the guards shifted uncomfortably. Harker's jaw tightened. "Don't engage with any of them. Just keep moving."
But they weren't done.
A Sigma three cells down had started singing—if you could call it that. She was swaying against the glass, her voice a discordantwarble that climbed and fell with no recognizable melody. "She walks through the castle, the bride in the tower, the king waits for his flower, his flower, hisflower—"
A Beta across the hall took up the words, harmonizing in a broken minor key.
Then another.
And another.
The song spread through the cell block like a virus, dozens of voices joining in a cacophony that made my skin crawl.
I'd read about folie à deux. Shared delusions between two people. But this was folie à fifty. A whole ward of broken minds tuned to the same frequency, singing the same impossible song.
About me.
“What are they talking about?” I looked at the warden.
Harker grabbed my arm too tight. "Keep. Moving."
But I couldn't stop staring. A Gamma two cells ahead was jumping up and down, slamming his body against the walls, screaming the lyrics at the top of his lungs.
On the left, I spotted a Sigma, a woman with surgical scars where her scent glands should be, was weeping openly and trying to reach toward me through the glass like I was salvation itself.
Then I saw the blood further down.
A thin Beta in the cell to my right had produced something sharp—a piece of broken plastic, maybe, smuggled from God knows where. He was dragging it across his own palm. Blood welled up in a bright red line, and he was using it to paint on the glass.
What is he drawing? Oh my God. He’s painting a crown with his own blood.
"For the queen!" He smeared another line. "A crown for Queen Willow!"
I blinked at hearing my name.
I should have looked away. That's what training taught you—don't reinforce the behavior, don't give them the attention they're seeking. But I couldn't stop staring at the crown taking shape on the glass. At the reverence in his eyes. At the way his blood dripped down the barrier between us like tears.
He wasn't performing for attention. He believed this. Whatever Rook had told them about me, theybelievedit.
Harker made a sharp gesture to one of the guards. "Cell 47. Restraint and medical. Now."
The guard broke away and spoke rapidly into his radio.
Within seconds, a team in white swarmed toward the cell, but the Beta didn't seem to notice. He just kept painting with his blood as his gaze never left mine.
My voice came out wrong. Too high. Edged with fear I couldn't hide. "How do they even know who I am?"
"Rook told them you were coming."
I stopped walking. "Hewhat?"
Harker didn't answer. He was already at the final checkpoint, punching in a code that made the heavy steel door groan open.
Beyond it, the lights were different—warmer, golden.
Classical music drifted from the space I couldn't yet see.
