Chapter Three:Three Moves.Three Nights. No Mistake
The man stood by the door, shoulders tense, barely hiding his disdain.
Lia didn't even look at him.
"Your face is irritating," she said calmly, still seated on the edge of the bed, one leg crossed over the other. "Leave."
He didn't move. Instead, his jaw tightened. "You're really going to let him rot, huh?" he muttered, not daring to raise his voice too much. "Your own brother."
There was silence.
Then slowly, she turned her head, her eyes like cold ash.
"Say that again," she said.
The killing intent in her tone made his stomach twist.
"You've changed, boss," he added quickly, and bitterly. "That boy used to worship the ground you walked on. And now you can't even lift a finger for him?"
She stood. She was not fast not loud. Just decisive like death approaching in silk.
"Worship is for fools," she said softly. "And I've outgrown fools."
He flinched, suddenly unsure of himself. But the anger in his chest refused to die. "You're not even human anymore."
She stopped inches from him.
A faint smile pulled at her lips dangerously calm. "I didn't survive to remain human."
She paused. Her voice dropped to a near whisper.
"And if you don't shut up and walk out that door, I'll remind you exactly what I am."
The man swallowed hard. "Yes, boss."
He turned and left quickly, not daring to look back. The door shut with a metallic click behind him.
Outside, the nurse narrowed her eyes. The man's visit hadn't gone unnoticed. He called her boss, not niece, and the bitterness in his eyes didn't match the warm family lie he tried to sell.
She scribbled on her clipboard:
Uncle, hostile body language. Possible connection to past crimes. Investigation recommended.
Inside, Lia reached beneath her bed and adjusted the screw she had hidden, its edge now worn sharp from scraping concrete at night.
The pills still lined her mattress slit, untouched and waiting.
Let them think she's broken. Let them whisper about her cruelty, her inhumanity.
They could judge her all they wanted.
None of it mattered.
Because when the time came, she'd walk out of here on her own terms.
And this time…
she wouldn't leave anything behind.
Lia stood by the small, barred window, the faint moonlight casting silver streaks across the cold floor. She let the silence fill her, wrapping around her like armor. The decision had been made, no more hesitation, no more waiting for mercy that would never come.
Slowly, she turned away and moved back toward the bed. Her movements were deliberate, every step measured, every breath controlled.
She slid beneath the thin, scratchy blanket, careful not to disturb the neat stack of pills hidden in the mattress slit. Her fingers brushed the worn screw beneath her pillow a silent promise she'd hold tight when the moment came.
Lia closed her eyes, but sleep did not come easily. Instead, she let her mind race through the next three moves, each step sharper, more precise than the last. Escape wasn't just a plan anymore, it was a countdown.
Her heartbeat steadied, slow and steady like the ticking of a clock. The world outside the sterile walls was waiting, and she would be ready.
Before the shadows swallowed her whole, she whispered to the dark:
Three moves. Three nights. No mistakes.
And with that, Lia let the weight of exhaustion finally claim her.
The next day, Lia woke with her mind and body full of zeal.
She sat up slowly, letting the morning sun wash over her face. Her bones ached, her muscles protested but none of it mattered. Something burned inside her now. Not hope. Not rage.
Purpose.
She moved through the morning routine like clockwork, took her pills (or at least pretended to), responded when spoken to, kept her tone calm and her gaze dull. Just how they liked her.
At therapy, she nodded along, offering clipped answers and pretending to reflect. She let them believe she was adjusting. Healing.
But beneath the surface, her mind was sharpening like a blade.
At lunchtime, she smiled. At medication time, she swallowed water, not pills. By evening, she hummed a soft, tuneless melody as she folded her blanket like the model patient she was pretending to be.
But when the world grew quiet…
When the moon climbed and the shadows crept back in…
That's when Lia moved.
Because the night?
The night was her playtime.
And she had three moves to make.
The first night arrived like a held breath, silent, heavy, and waiting to be exhaled.
Lia lay still in her bed, her body loose but every sense alert. She counted the seconds between guard rotations. Listened to the rhythm of the flickering light in the hallway. Waited until the security camera at the end of the corridor blinked and turned away.
Showtime.
She slipped the sharpened screw from beneath her pillow, crawled to the vent near the ceiling, and unscrewed the loose cover she'd spent months quietly weakening. Inside, her fingers found what she needed: a frayed wire stripped of its insulation and bent to serve a single purpose.
With a slow, steady breath, she touched the metal tip to the grille once, twice, then a pause. The pulse ran through the ductwork like a ghost. A code.
Three short taps, a pause and two more.
A signal.
She pulled back, and waited.
Her ears strained in the dark silence, listening for failure.
Then...
tap… tap… tap
A pause.
tap… tap…
Her contact had answered.
Relief didn't wash over her, it never did. But something steadier settled inside her chest.
The first domino had fallen.
Tomorrow would be move two.
And when the third night came… she wouldn't just escape.
She'd leave this place in ruins.
To Be Continued...