41. Liath
LIATH
Aclock chimed midnight somewhere through the asylum as I eased my bedroom door shut behind me. I took care to muffle the click before I paused in the dark, listening for any sign that I had been heard.
No footsteps followed, and no voices carried down the corridor. But my pulse refused to settle.
I crept along the corridor, keeping close to the wall, my fingers running along the brocade wallpaper.
At night, the asylum felt altered in a way I did not trust. The usual movement through the corridors had thinned to an unnatural stillness.
I slipped into the stairway and slowly descended, one careful step at a time, my hand skimming the cold stone wall for balance.
The air changed as I moved lower, growing heavier and damp. Each step echoed softly despite my care, the sound carrying down into the dark below in a way that made my jaw tighten.
By the time I reached the bottom, the silence had thickened into something oppressive, pressing in on me from all sides.
Where were the orderlies?
There should have been at least one making rounds, soft chatter or the squeak of shoes turning the corner ahead.
There was nothing. No voices. No movement. No interruption. The absence settled into my bones in a way that felt wrong.
At the far end of the basement corridor, the door to the Special Ward waited, silent and imposing, as if it had been expecting me.
My skin prickled, a wave of cold washing over me even as the key burned in my hand.
The path felt too open, too prepared, like I was being led into a trap. Doors like this were not left unguarded.
Every instinct told me to turn back.
I did not listen.
I crept forward, glancing up and down the hallway, ears pricked for the sounds of anyone coming.
A strange certainty settled over me that I was not alone.
The sensation of being watched crept over my skin, slow and deliberate, and I turned again to scan the empty hallway behind me.
A flicker of movement caught in the reflection of the window glass to my left, and I turned sharply toward it, my breath catching in my throat.
There was nothing there except my own reflection, pale and distorted in the dim light.
The lock caught the light as I stepped closer, and the faint glint drew my eye in a way that felt almost intentional.
I let out a shaky breath and pressed my ear to the door. The cold of the metal sank into my skin at once, and the sharp sensation anchored me more firmly in the moment.
For a moment, I heard nothing from the other side, thick and waiting.
A female scream tore through the silence.
The sound hit with such force that my whole body locked. It scraped down my spine and lodged under my skin, barbed and jagged, until my lungs forgot how to work properly.
In an asylum, you almost got used to screaming. It became background noise, a hollow echo you learned to live with.
This scream carried the raw, hideous shape of real suffering.
I shuddered and the teeth of the metal key cut into my palm as I gripped it tighter.
If I stepped through that door, I would be stepping out from under the spell Deargán had cast over all of it. He had smoothed the edges for me, softened the horror with his protection and careful lies. If I went in there now, I would see the dark and ugly truth.
If I stepped through that door, there would be no version of this where I got to pretend I had not seen what was inside.
If I entered, I’d be risking my life… or my sanity.
If I got caught… they’d never let me leave. They’d lock me up behind this door, with the rest of the forgotten girls.
Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should turn back, slip the key into Deargán’s desk, crawl into bed, and let him go on deciding what I saw and what I did not.
I could keep the lie intact. I could let him soothe me, guide me, use me. I could let myself become whatever version of Rua was easiest for him to keep. I could choose safety. At least the kind he was offering.
But Dervla’s smile haunted me. Her dark humor and sarcasm, her rare laughter, her fierce loyalty. She had been the tether that held me together in the dark.
If I turned back, I wouldn’t just be abandoning her. I would be becoming one more person who heard a girl scream and chose to save herself instead.
I’d promised Dervla that I would not forget her.
I’d bled for that promise.
If I walked away now, I would spend the rest of my life knowing exactly what kind of woman I had chosen to be.
I’d let the asylum win.
I’d let Deargán go on peeling me apart under the guise of care.
I’d let every single entitled man carve out another piece of me and strip away my fight. I’d let them all keep winning, like they always did.
I was done giving them my surrender. Done with choosing quiet submission when I knew better.
Footsteps echoed from somewhere deeper in the hall, low and approaching.
My time was up.
I slipped the key into the lock, its teeth sliding in with a soft, traitorous click. I held still for half a breath, long enough to feel the last clean edge of ignorance lingering behind me. Long enough to know I could never take this back.
I turned it, slipped inside, and let the door seal shut behind me.