The room was white.
Not soft-white, like clouds or cotton.
Clinical white. Icy, buzzing white. The kind that made her eyes ache if she stared too long.
Samantha sat cross-legged on the bed, blanket bunched at her knees. Her head throbbed faintly. There was a dull pressure behind her eyes like she'd slept too long—or not at all.
She couldn't remember how she got here.
The last thing she recalled was the car. Her mother driving. Soft music playing. A strange silence stretching between them.
And then… the gates. Steel. High. With a name etched into a brass plaque that didn't register fast enough.
Now she was here. In this place. A room with nothing but a bed, a desk, a door with no handle on the inside, and a little red call button that screamed "do not press unless you're ready for a lecture."
Her pendant was gone.
That was the worst part.
It had been in her hand. She remembered clutching it tight during the drive. She remembered its warmth.
Now her neck was bare. Her desk drawer empty.
She'd asked about it. The nurse gave her a soft smile and said, "You're safe now."
That word again.
Safe.
She wanted to scream.
---
The days blurred together after that.
Wake up. Eat food with no flavor. Attend "group processing sessions" where she sat in a circle of strangers and said nothing.
Some of them were twitchy. Others glassy-eyed. A few looked just as confused as she felt.
Every time she tried to ask questions, they dodged her. Said her mind was playing tricks on her. That stress caused delusions. That she'd had a breakdown.
"But I'm not imagining it," she'd whispered once.
And the nurse had smiled like that was the illness talking.
---
What broke her wasn't the isolation.
It was the silence.
No texts. No calls. No Ron.
He had to know something was wrong by now. He had to be looking for her.
Right?
But what if they told everyone she was fine?
What if they painted her out to be unstable, just like they'd always whispered behind her back?
Her mother had done this. She'd smiled and said, "Just a few days. Time to rest. You'll feel better, sweetie."
Lied right to her face.
---
On the third night, she lay curled on the stiff mattress, heart aching and fists clenched in the sheets.
That's when she felt it.
Warmth.
Her breath hitched.
She sat up slowly, chest pounding.
She turned toward the desk drawer, reached out, and opened it again.
Still empty.
But the warmth didn't stop.
It was inside her now. Humming low and deep, like something sleeping under her skin.
She closed her eyes.
There. A sound.
Soft. Far-off. Familiar.
A whisper through the trees.
A shimmer in the air.
She saw flashes again—gold light spilling from cracks in stone, a tree reaching up through the fog, something ancient pulsing beneath the surface of the world.
Her eyes snapped open.
And just like that, it was gone.
But now she knew.
They could take her freedom. They could lie to her face.
But whatever had started—wasn't finished yet.
And no locked door could stop what was waking up inside her.