Chapter 15
Alette
The storm still rages beyond the walls, thunder rolling in the distance, but inside the castle, a strange calm wraps around us as we walk.
Ashton is saying something under his breath that makes Cassius huff quietly, and even Oberon looks less…
sharp than usual. I don’t realize how much I needed this until Sylvian suddenly reaches for me. And lifts me clean off the ground.
A startled laugh bursts out of me as he spins me once, smooth and effortless, the world tilting for just a second before my feet touch the floor again.
“Sylvian!” I gasp, breathless, laughing despite myself.
His mouth curves faintly, something softer than usual in his expression. “You looked too serious,” he says.
“I was not—” I start, but Ashton cuts in.
“You absolutely were,” he says, grinning. “Very brooding. Very tragic.”
“I do not brood,” I protest, though I’m still smiling.
Oberon snorts quietly. “You do.”
Traitor. But the warmth stays, lingering between us as we continue down the hall. For a moment, it almost feels normal.
“Do you think we’re close?” I ask after a beat, glancing between them, and everyone knows I’m not talking about the hall. “To the end?”
Cassius considers it, his expression thoughtful. “We’ve survived multiple trials. Statistically, we should be nearing the final stages.”
“That’s the least comforting way you could’ve said that,” Ashton mutters.
“It’s accurate,” Cassius replies.
Sylvian glances at me. “We’re closer than we were,” he says. “That’s enough.”
Oberon nods once. “We’ll make it out.”
Not if. When. The confidence in his voice quiets something restless inside me.
“And when we do,” Ashton adds, “I’m eating the largest, most ridiculous meal I can and not moving for a week.”
I laugh. “What would you even eat?”
“Everything,” he says immediately.
“Helpful,” Cassius murmurs.
“Roasted meats,” Ashton continues, counting on his fingers. “Fresh bread. Something drenched in butter. Sweet pastries. More than is reasonable.”
“Wine,” Sylvian adds.
“Good wine,” Ashton corrects.
Oberon huffs. “Something that our chefs whip up just for us.”
“That too,” Ashton agrees.
I shake my head, smiling. “You’re all impossible.”
“And you love it,” Ashton says.
My smile lingers, because he’s not wrong.
The conversation fades after that, not into silence, but into something quieter. Comfortable. Each of us lost in our own thoughts, but still moving together, still close.
For a few moments, it feels like we’ve already made it out. Like this is what comes after. Peace. Then, a sound cuts through it. Soft. Broken.
A woman crying. Again.
I stop.
The others go still with me.
The noise comes again, faint but unmistakable, somewhere nearby in the twisting halls. Unease crawls through me instantly.
“Ash…” I whisper, turning toward him. “Did you hear that?”
His expression shifts immediately, the lightness gone. “Yeah.”
The warmth in the hall disappears just as quickly as it came. And just like that, our moods are tense. Is it another crying woman? Or the same one? It sounds like the same one, and my heart breaks. I just want to help her. No matter what she’s going through.
But I shake my head firmly, feeling a pull in my chest that I can’t ignore. “Please. Let me talk to her.”
“Alette…” Ashton starts, already knowing where I’m going. “It’s just someone crying. Sometimes people cry.”
“Could be nothing,” Oberon says. “People break in places like this.”
I look between them, my chest tightening.
“She sounds… really upset,” I say quietly. “What if she doesn’t have anyone?”
There’s a brief pause. Not disagreement. Just hesitation.
“I cried sometimes,” I say quietly. “No one ever cared enough to check on me.”
Pain flashes across their faces, and I realize that my pain hurts them. It’s a strange realization.
“I just want to check,” I add. “That’s all.”
Their expressions shift, subtle but real.
Cassius nods once. “We’ll remain close.”
Sylvian steps closer to me, his voice low. “You call for us if anything feels off.”
“I will,” I promise.
The sound comes again, clearer now.
A quiet, broken sob.
I turn and follow it, the others falling in behind me as we move down the hall. The noise leads us to a door slightly ajar, faint light spilling through the narrow gap. The same door as before, and I flashback to what I found last time. The woman and the strange wall of names.
My hand hovers over the wood. The crying is unmistakable now.
I glance back at them. They’re already in position. Watching, alert, close enough to reach me in a second. Waiting. For me.
I draw in a breath. Then push the door open.
The woman is hunched over, her back to me, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs that slice through the silence like a knife.
The dim light from the single torch on the wall casts long shadows across the room, illuminating the wall that seems to pulse with sorrow.
The same strange wall of names carved into the stone.
Her hand rests on one name in particular, her fingers tracing the letters as if they hold a sacred meaning: Timothy Greenwal. I wonder if it’s someone she knows. Or has known. For some reason, I get the feeling her tears come from a broken heart.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” I say softly, taking a tentative step forward.
She flinches and stiffens, her head snapping around to look at me, her wide eyes glinting in the shifting torchlight like those of a startled deer.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” I continue, raising my hands slightly, a gesture of peace. “I heard you again, which can’t be a coincidence. Maybe I was meant to find you here. Maybe we were meant to talk about whatever is hurting you so much.”
She shakes her head, her lips pressing into a thin line as she stands and steps away from me, clutching the wall as if it might shield her from the world. “You shouldn’t be here,” she whispers, her voice trembling with a fear that resonates deep within me. “You need to leave.”
“I won’t hurt you,” I say gently, taking another step closer, hoping to bridge the gap between us. “I just want to help. Please.”
“You couldn’t understand…”
“I understand pain and loss more than most people,” I tell her, giving a soft smile.
Her eyes dart between me and the door, panic flashing across her features, but something in my tone seems to soften her resistance. She doesn’t move away as I approach, though her hands remain firmly pressed against the name carved into the stone.
“Timothy Greenwal,” I say quietly, reading the name aloud. “Who is he?”
Her face crumples at the question, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks as she stares at the name. “He was my son,” she whispers, her voice breaking on the last word, and my heart twists painfully.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, taking a deep breath. It’s never easy to lose anyone, but your child? “What was he like?”
Her fingers trace the letters of his name as if she can bring him back through sheer will. “He was wonderful,” she says simply, her voice hollow and devoid of hope. “Smart, kind, and everything a mother should be proud of.”
I’m quiet, letting the weight of her words sink in, giving her space to speak if she wants to. Loss is different for everyone, I know that, but I also know that I always wished I had someone to talk to about my dad. Screaming into the night always felt so hollow.
“I lost someone, too,” I say, my voice soft, trying to connect. “My father and my mother. They died when I was young.”
Her eyes lift to mine, unreadable except for the faint glimmer of understanding beneath the surface. “How did you survive it?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
I take a deep breath, the memories rushing back like a tidal wave.
“I was so young, I hardly understood what grief was,” I admit, my voice trembling as I allow the memories to flow.
“But I felt it, even if I couldn’t name it.
I grieved for a long time. I had to keep going, though.
There was no one else to hunt for food, to fix the cabin.
I went through the motions because I had to, but… I wasn’t living. Not really.”
The weight of my words hangs in the air, and I can see her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she listens, her posture less guarded now.
I press on, my voice trembling. “There were days I wanted to give up. To just… stop. But something inside me wouldn’t let me.
I kept going, even when it felt pointless.
And eventually, it got easier. The pain never went away, but it became…
bearable. And I realized that my father wouldn’t have wanted me to stop living.
He’d have wanted me to fight, to survive. ”
Her tears fall freely now, and before I can say more, she turns to me and wraps her arms around me. I freeze, startled by the sudden gesture, but then I hug her back, holding her tightly as she sobs into my shoulder.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice muffled against my shirt. “Thank you for understanding.”
We stay like that for what feels like an eternity, two strangers connected by shared pain, the sound of her sobs laced with the echoes of my own heartache. Loss… grief… it’s truly brutal. No one understands it until they do.
When she finally pulls away, her face is streaked with tears, but there’s a new resolve in her eyes.
She leans in, her voice dropping to a trembling whisper.
“You have to leave,” she says, her breath warm against my ear.
“You and your friends… they plan to kill you tonight. To eat you. Just like they did to the others. Just like they did to my son. If you don’t escape, you’ll die. ”
My blood turns to ice, and I pull back to look at her, searching her face for any hint of deception. But all I see is fear and desperation, a raw honesty that sends shivers down my spine. This is not a game. This is survival.
Her hands clutch mine tightly, her fingers cold against my skin. “Please. You have to believe me. Get out while you can.”
Before I can ask anything more, she pulls away and bolts for the door, disappearing into the shadows of the hall. Panic surges through me, and I’m left standing there, my heart pounding, her words echoing in my mind like a relentless drumbeat.
They plan to kill us tonight.
To eat us.
I stagger back, my hands trembling as I clutch the wall for support. We’re not safe. We have to get out. Now.
Ashton’s voice calls out from the hall, snapping me back to reality, and I take a deep breath, forcing myself to move. I step back into the corridor, heart pounding.
“What happened?” he asks, all four of the men looking at me with concern.
I open my mouth, and the words just fall out. “We need to leave. Now.”