Naya didn't sleep that night.
Not because she couldn't.
Because she refused to.
Sleep was for safety. For comfort.
But now that she'd seen the truth—the tapes, the chair, the names carved in silence—sleep felt like surrender.
She sat in the far corner of her room, knees to her chest, Kael's cigarette still burning in her mind. His voice still echoing: "You were always meant to see this."
Like he was waiting for her to unravel.
Like he'd already written her ending.
But he hadn't.
Because he didn't know what she was about to do next.
⸻
At dawn, the house came to life with muted urgency.
Guards gathered. New faces replaced old ones. Even the kitchen staff whispered with tension behind swinging doors.
Everyone could feel it.
Something was coming.
But no one could say what.
⸻
Naya moved through the hall like a ghost.
Not hiding—blending.
She had memorized the guards' shifts. Counted steps between corners. Knew which floorboards squeaked.
It took her exactly thirteen minutes to reach the west wing without being noticed.
She didn't return to the greenhouse.
She went beneath it.
To the service cellar.
The one she'd once been dragged through.
Back then, she hadn't noticed the small keypad hidden behind the old pantry shelves.
But now she saw it.
And thanks to Kael's arrogance—leaving her alone in the study—she had the code.
⸻
The panel blinked green.
A mechanical click.
The wall behind the pantry moved.
Revealing a narrow staircase carved in stone, descending into cold, humming dark.
Naya hesitated only a second before stepping in.
The air smelled of mildew and static.
Somewhere below, a machine buzzed.
She followed it.
One step.
Then another.
Then—
A door.
Heavy. Rusted. Thick as a vault.
And on it, in faint red letters:
ARCHIVE ROOM 3.
She pushed it open.
And stepped into the graveyard of truth.
⸻
The room was dim, but her breath caught instantly.
Shelves. Walls. Cabinets.
All filled with tapes.
Hundreds of them.
Labeled.
Numbered.
Categorized.
Not just girls.
Not just Celeste. Mira. Junia.
Boys.
Guards.
Staff.
Even—
Kael.
She picked up one labeled: Subject K. Age 17. Session 4: Detachment Response.
Her fingers trembled.
He'd done this to himself?
Why?
Why record his own descent?
What was he trying to prove?
She set it down and moved deeper.
Until she found a shelf marked: RED TAPES.
These were different.
Wrapped in black ribbon. No labels. No numbers.
She chose one.
Slipped it into the nearby player. Pressed Play.
Static.
Then—footsteps.
Then—
Screaming.
Raw. Human. Real.
A girl's voice, begging. Not pleading for escape—for memory.
"Don't let him make me forget. Please. Please. I need to remember who I was. I need to remember my name."
Naya's whole body froze.
It wasn't Mira.
It wasn't Celeste.
It was her.
Her voice.
But the tape said nothing. No label. No time.
She gripped the desk. Heart pounding.
When had that been recorded?
Was she drugged?
Was it from before she woke up in the estate?
Was there more she didn't remember?
The static shifted again.
Another voice.
This time calm. Deep.
Kael.
"Sometimes forgetting is mercy, Naya."
She ejected the tape like it burned her fingers.
⸻
That's when she noticed the second door at the back of the room.
Slightly ajar.
Behind it: a red light blinking softly from inside.
She crept closer.
Peered through the gap.
A small room.
One camera. One chair.
A voice recorder.
A screen showing real-time footage of the mansion.
And on the wall—
A whiteboard.
With a name circled in red over and over and over again.
Naya.
And underneath it:
• Resistance: High
• Response to fear: Elevated
• Attachment forming: Controlled
• Risk factor: Increasing
• End point recommendation: Accelerated exposure
She stepped back.
Her mouth dry.
Accelerated exposure?
Was that what the "final session" meant?
Was she next?
No.
She wouldn't let him get that far.
She turned to leave—
And stopped dead.
Kael stood at the entrance.
⸻
He didn't speak.
Didn't blink.
Just looked at her, in the dim red glow, like she'd finally become what he always wanted her to be.
Awake.
Angry.
Aware.
Naya didn't cower. She met his gaze with steel.
"You made me watch myself beg," she said, her voice low.
"Yes," he replied. "And you didn't look away. That's why you're still alive."
"What did you do to me?" she whispered.
"I gave you a mirror."
She stepped forward, fists clenched. "You gave me trauma."
Kael's lips curved into something between pride and regret. "I gave you truth. What you do with it now… that's the part I can't control."
"Is that why Mira's coming?" she asked. "Because you lost control?"
For the first time, something flickered in his eyes.
Not fear.
But recognition.
"You think Mira's coming to save you," he said quietly. "But she's not."
"What do you mean?"
He stepped aside.
Motioned to the screen showing exterior footage of the estate.
A truck. Empty.
A car. Smashed into the gate.
No Mira.
No rescue.
Just chaos.
Kael's voice dropped.
"She's not coming back to break you out, Naya."
Then he looked her straight in the eye.
"She's coming back to kill you."