“That’s not news,” I say.
“No,” Ghost agrees. “He’s been circling it since the idea came up.”
Kayla’s quiet for a few steps. Then, “What do you think he’ll do?”
It’s not fear in her voice. It’s calculation.
“Something else,” I say. “He always does.”
She nods, accepting that. “And we’re still going back.”
It’s a statement, not a question.
“Yes,” I say. “Because there isn’t another way that ends Seytan, the asylum, and the Director in the same stroke.”
Hatchet’s gaze flicks to me, then forward again. Agreement, again, in silence.
Kayla hums thoughtfully. “Maybe we’re mad.”
“Probably,” Ghost says. “But isn’t that what we’ve all built a life around?”
She considers that, then says quietly, “I think I need to go back. I don’t want to leave it unfinished.”
I don’t comment on that. I understand it too well.
We walk the rest of the way without speaking, the question of Snow lingering between us – not as a problem to solve, but as something already set in motion.
We’re backin the hotel room when the weight of it finally settles.
Food gets put down. Bags open. Paper rustles. Someone claims a corner of the bed without asking. It’s all so automatic it barely registers, like we’ve done this a hundred times before instead of stealing moments between disasters.
Hatchet closes the door behind us, checks the corridor through the peephole, then locks it. The sound is soft. Final, but not threatening. He crosses to the chair and this time he does pick up the pad, resting it on his knee, pen ready. He doesn’t write yet though.
Kayla sits on the edge of the bed, food untouched in her hands. Ghost leans against the desk, already eating, eyes on her over the top of the carton like he’s waiting for something inevitable.
“He won’t follow,” Kayla says suddenly.
No lead-in. No context needed.
“Snow,” Ghost says, to anchor it.
Kayla nods. “He won’t come back with us.”
I lower myself onto the other bed, food balanced on my knee. “He was never going to.”
She looks at me then. Searching, not accusing. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. The temptation of freedom was always going to be too much for him.”
Hatchet’s pen taps once against the pad. He doesn’t look up.
Kayla stares at the wall opposite, jaw set. “We’re really doing this.”
“We are,” I say.
She lets out a breath that might almost be a laugh. “Walking back onto that island. Back into the asylum. Back into all of it.”
“And taking on the Director,” Ghost adds mildly.
