Jason began removing the world from her piece by piece.
It was subtle at first.
The mirrors disappeared from the hallway.
The television no longer worked.
Her phone—gone.
"You don't need distractions," he said calmly when she asked. "They make you restless."
She nodded, because nodding was safer.
But the house felt different now. Smaller. Like the walls had leaned in while she slept.
Isolation Disguised as Care
He changed the routine.
Meals were brought only when he was present.
Walks happened only with his hand gripping her wrist.
Doors clicked shut behind her more often.
"You've been anxious," he told her softly. "I'm helping."
She stared at the floor.
"I don't want you overwhelmed," he continued. "Everything outside this house wants to hurt you."
His thumb brushed her knuckles.
"I'm the only one who won't."
Her chest tightened.
The Message That Slips Through
It happened by accident.
A maid—new, nervous—slipped while changing the sheets. Something fell from her apron and slid under the bed.
A phone.
Loraine's heart stopped.
The maid froze, eyes wide with fear. "I—I didn't—"
"Leave," Loraine whispered.
The maid hesitated, then fled.
With shaking hands, Loraine reached for the phone.
One unread message glowed on the screen.
Ethan:
I know you're not okay. I saw you at the gate weeks ago. Please—if you can read this, don't give up.
Her vision blurred.
He was alive.
Jason hadn't erased him.
Not yet.
Hope Is Loud
Hope made her careless.
Jason noticed immediately.
"You're breathing differently," he said that night, studying her face. "What happened today?"
"Nothing," she replied too quickly.
He smiled.
That smile never meant safety.
The Question
Later, while brushing her hair, he asked casually,
"Did anyone speak to you?"
Her throat tightened.
"No."
The brush stopped.
Jason leaned closer, his voice low. "I don't like lies."
Her hands clenched in her lap.
"I just—miss people," she whispered.
His fingers tangled in her hair—not painful, not gentle. Controlled.
"You miss him," he said.
Her silence answered.
Control Tightens
The next day, the maids were replaced.
All men.
Silent. Watching.
Jason never left her side.
"People from your past don't understand you anymore," he murmured as they walked the corridor. "They remember a version of you that doesn't exist."
She swallowed.
"What happens if they try?" she asked softly.
Jason stopped walking.
He crouched in front of her, eyes level with hers.
"They won't," he said calmly. "Because you belong here now."
He kissed her knuckles.
"I won't let anyone confuse you again."
Ethan Tries Again
That night, the hidden phone vibrated.
One last message.
If he's watching you, blink twice at the east window tomorrow at noon. I'll know.
Her heart pounded so hard she feared Jason could hear it.
She looked toward the window.
Then toward the door.
Then back again.
Jason Already Knows
At noon, Jason stood beside her.
The curtains were drawn.
"Looking outside?" he asked lightly.
She shook her head.
He smiled, satisfied.
"You don't need signals," he said softly. "If you need anything—anything at all—you ask me."
His arm wrapped around her shoulders.
Firm. Final.
Questions That Press Like Walls
How much of the world can disappear before she does too?
Did Ethan see her—or was he already too late?
Why does Jason sound calm when he's most dangerous?
And if hope keeps slipping through the cracks…
how long before Jason seals them completely?