Something was off.
Samantha couldn't put her finger on it exactly, but it buzzed at the back of her mind like a mosquito she couldn't swat. A feeling. A shift in the air. A look that lasted too long.
Her mother was… hovering.
Not in the usual "mom" way. Not the Are you eating? Are you sleeping? kind of way. This was different. Softer. Tighter. Like she was watching Samantha with a magnifying glass — like one wrong word would make her combust.
At first, Sam didn't think much of it. Maybe it was just nerves. The past few days had been weird enough. The pendant, the visions, the figure in the street… things that made even her question what was real.
But it wasn't just nerves.
Her mother had been whispering on the phone a lot lately. Never near Samantha. Always turned away, one hand on her temple, the other covering her mouth like she was ashamed of the words coming out of it.
Sam noticed it one morning as she came down for breakfast — her mom quickly ending a call with a stiff smile and too-loud "Okay, thanks again, talk soon!"
She tried to act casual. Normal.
But her eyes kept flicking up to Samantha like she was checking something. Looking for symptoms.
---
Later that week, Samantha walked into the kitchen to find her mother standing over the sink, unmoving. Just... staring out the window. The tea kettle whistled behind her, ignored.
"You okay?" Sam asked.
Her mother startled like she'd been caught mid-crime. "Oh! Yeah. Fine. Sorry, I'm just… distracted."
Samantha offered a half-smile. "World's on fire. Understandable."
But the unease stuck to her skin long after she left the room.
---
She started testing it. Watching her mother like her mother watched her.
Asking questions she already knew the answers to, just to see how she'd react.
"Did Ron call?"
Her mother's eyes darted to her phone. "Not that I saw."
Weird. Ron had literally just texted her.
"Do we have anything going on this weekend?" Sam tried casually.
A pause. "Nope. Just rest. You've been stressed."
There was that look again. That tilt of the head. That soft, too-careful concern.
It wasn't real.
---
Friday came.
She woke to her mother saying they needed to run a few errands together. "Just you and me. For once," she said brightly.
Samantha didn't protest. She missed that — time alone. The normalcy of it.
They drove in silence most of the way, the kind that used to be comfortable but now felt like words were being swallowed.
They passed the grocery store.
Then the gas station.
Then the turn to town.
Samantha frowned. "Where are we going?"
Her mother smiled, eyes fixed on the road. "Just somewhere quiet."
The car rolled forward. Left turn. A narrow road she didn't recognize.
Something dropped in her stomach. Her hand curled into a fist in her lap.
"Mom?" she asked, voice tighter this time. "Where are we going?"
No answer at first.
Just the sound of tires over gravel, and a soft sigh.
"I just want you to talk to someone," her mother finally said. "Just for a little while."
Samantha's throat closed.
Talk to someone.
That phrase sat heavy. Too familiar. Too final.
She turned in her seat slowly. "Is this… are you—?"
The building came into view like a dream falling apart.
Clean brick walls. Tinted windows. A steel gate that hummed as it opened.
There were people in white coats standing at the doors.
Samantha stared. Her chest tightened. "You're joking."
Her mother stopped the car. Didn't speak.
"Mom," Samantha breathed. "What is this?"
"I'm trying to help you."
"No," her voice cracked, low and raw. "You're locking me up."
"They're just going to talk to you. Just for a while. You've been through a lot, Sam."
"I told you what's happening," she whispered. "I trusted you."
Her mother turned to her finally. Eyes wet. Mouth trembling.
"I don't think you're crazy," she said. "But I think something's happening to you that we don't understand. And I can't just wait for it to get worse."
Samantha's hands were shaking now. She couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.
A staff member stepped up to the window.
She heard a voice — muffled, distant — asking if she needed help.
And that was it.
It all made sense now.
The stares. The soft phone calls. The whispers. The way her mother had started watching her like a puzzle missing pieces.
She'd made up her mind long ago.
And now here they were.
Not at the grocery store. Not at the doctor's office.
But at a place that smelled like disinfectant and silence. Where the walls didn't echo.
A place for people who were broken.
---
She sat frozen as the door unlocked.
Her mother touched her arm gently.
"I'm still your mom," she said softly. "I'm not going anywhere."
Samantha didn't move.
Didn't look at her.
She stared ahead, past the gate, past the walls, past everything that had just changed.
And in her pocket, the pendant pulsed once, warm.
Like it knew.