The taxi refused to go any farther.
"End of the road," the driver muttered, eyes fixed ahead instead of on Amelia Cross.
Amelia stepped out into freezing fog. The hills swallowed sound, and the world felt muted, as if someone had pressed pause on reality. Ahead of her, iron gates rose from the mist—twisted, rusted, and chained like they were meant to keep something in, not people out.
Redwood Asylum.
The name alone felt heavy in her chest.
Amelia tightened her coat and pulled her suitcase behind her. Each step echoed unnaturally loud against the stone path. The air smelled of wet soil and rot, like something long buried had started breathing again.
When she touched the gates, they moved.
Slowly.
Without her pushing.
Metal groaned, opening just wide enough for her to slip through. The second she crossed, the gates slammed shut behind her.
The sound cracked through the fog.
Amelia spun. "Hello?"
No answer.
Only the wind… and something underneath it.
A whisper.
Not carried by air, but crawling across her thoughts.
Amelia…
Her breath caught. She hadn't told anyone here her name.
The asylum loomed above her—three floors of broken windows, staring like empty eyes. Curtains fluttered where no wind should reach.
She stepped inside.
The entrance hall was vast and silent. Dust floated in pale beams of moonlight. A wheelchair lay overturned. Nearby, dark stains smeared the tiles like someone had been dragged away.
Her flashlight flickered.
Then died.
Cold rushed in instantly.
Behind her, footsteps sounded.
Slow.
Bare.
Wet.
Amelia froze.
The footsteps stopped right behind her ear.
A breath brushed her skin.
And a voice whispered softly, lovingly, horribly close—
"Welcome home."