The road wound like a serpent through the Highland mist, curling tighter the farther Elise drove. Trees stood like silent sentinels on either side, their bare branches clawing at the gray sky. She hadn't seen another car in over an hour. Just fog, forest, and the low, persistent thrum of the rain tapping her windshield like a ticking clock.
She should've turned back.
She told herself that twice already but she didn't. She never did. Not when the letter came. Not when the case file showed up, red-stamped and half-redacted. And not now, with the facility finally looming in the distance like a black tooth in the throat of the hills.
Dunbridge Institute.
The place looked abandoned at first glance three stories of soot-streaked stone, narrow windows, and a spire that leaned slightly to the left, like it was tired of standing. A rusted iron gate groaned open as her car approached, slow and reluctant, as if the building itself was deciding whether to let her in.
Elise parked just outside the main entrance. No reception desk. No signage. Just heavy double doors and the hollow silence of a place that should've been decommissioned years ago.
She stepped out into the cold. It bit through her coat, sharp and immediate. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a thought stirred: This feels familiar.
She shook it off.
Inside, the air was warmer but stale, carrying the faint scent of bleach and something underneath it dust, maybe. Or old secrets. A woman in a gray uniform appeared at the end of the hall like she'd been waiting there the whole time.
"You're Dr. Harrow," the woman said. Not a question.
Elise nodded. "And you are?"
"Bridget. Head nurse." Her tone made it clear that was all Elise would get. "He's been expecting you."
"He?"
"The patient."
Of course.
The hallway seemed longer than it should've been, lined with faded photographs that Elise didn't stop to look at. The walls were an anemic shade of green, and every few feet, a fluorescent bulb buzzed like it was struggling to stay awake.
"He speaks now?" Elise asked as they walked.
"Only to certain people," Bridget replied.
"Has he said anything since last week?"
"Just one thing."
They stopped at a heavy steel door. Bridget punched in a code and looked at Elise as it clicked open.
"He said: 'Don't let her forget again.'"
Elise's stomach turned, cold and slick. "Forget what?"
Bridget didn't answer. The door creaked inward.
Inside, the room was small. Plain. White walls. Bed. Desk. Chair. One barred window. And him Jonah Kells sitting cross-legged on the floor, sketching spirals across the tile with the tip of a plastic spoon.
He looked up when she entered.
And smiled.
"Elise," he said softly. "You came back."