Amelia stood frozen in the ward, watching the shadows stretch taller beneath the beds.
They didn't rush her.
They waited.
That was worse.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she backed toward the opposite exit. The shadows recoiled slightly, as if curious, tasting her movement. When she reached the door, her fingers shook as they closed around the rusted handle.
She pulled.
It opened with a scream of metal.
The shadows shrank instantly, sliding back under the beds like obedient pets. The ward fell silent again.
Amelia stumbled into another hallway.
Here the air felt older — thick with dust, paper, and something sour beneath. Filing cabinets lined both sides, warped and swollen with moisture. A sign hung crooked above:
PATIENT RECORDS.
Her pulse slowed just enough for thought to return.
If Redwood remembered everything, the records would tell her why.
She stepped inside.
The lights flickered on by themselves.
Rows of cabinets stretched endlessly. Some drawers twitched. Others breathed softly, expanding and contracting like lungs.
Amelia swallowed and approached the nearest one.
She pulled a drawer.
It slid out far too easily.
Inside were folders… but not paper.
Skin.
Thin, yellowed layers stitched together, each etched with handwriting that looked burned into flesh.
She dropped the file, gagging.
The cabinet behind her opened.
Then another.
Then dozens.
The room filled with soft, wet sounds.
She forced herself to read one.
NAME: AMELIA CROSS.
Her blood went cold.
STATUS: PENDING CONSUMPTION.
The pages trembled.
She flipped faster.
Dates that hadn't happened yet. Descriptions of wounds she hadn't received. A final line still writing itself:
CAUSE OF DEATH — UNKNOWN (LEARNING).
Ink oozed as if alive.
Behind her, breathing thickened.
She turned slowly.
The cabinets leaned inward, drawers stretching like jaws. From inside them, faces stared — flattened, preserved, whispering.
"Stay with the file."
"Let us finish you."
Amelia screamed and ran.
The records room chased her.
Drawers slammed shut behind her heels. Handles scraped her skin. Paper-skin brushed her arms like cold tongues.
She burst through a fire door and collapsed onto concrete stairs leading downward.
A single word was carved into the wall:
CONFESS.
Below her, darkness waited.
And it was already listening.