Amelia ran until Redwood rearranged itself around her.
Corridors folded.
Staircases uncoiled.
Doors grew where walls had been seconds before. The asylum wasn't chasing her anymore — it was guiding her, herding her toward something final.
The air thinned as she burst into the grand entrance hall.
Or what pretended to be one.
The ceiling stretched impossibly high, ribs arching like the inside of a cathedral built from bones. Chandeliers swayed gently though nothing touched them. The massive front doors pulsed, wood expanding and contracting like lungs learning how to breathe.
Moonlight leaked through the seams.
Freedom waited inches away.
Amelia sprinted.
Behind her, shadows melted together, forming Crowe again and again, each version stitched from hallway, pipe, and regret.
"You cannot outrun tomorrow," his voice echoed from everywhere.
She slammed into the doors.
They resisted.
She pushed harder.
Her reflection appeared in the dark glass.
But it wasn't copying her movements correctly.
It smiled when she didn't.
Thin scars slowly stitched themselves across the reflected skin. Her eyes glowed faintly amber.
Amelia touched her own face.
Warm.
Pulsing.
Wrong.
Crowe stepped from the shadows behind her, calm as a priest at confession.
"Redwood is tired," he whispered. "Buildings decay. Walls forget. But futures renew."
The floor tightened beneath her boots.
The walls leaned closer, listening to her breathing.
"You didn't bring us your body," Crowe continued softly. "You brought us tomorrow."
Amelia shook her head.
"No."
"Yes," he smiled. "That's why you survived."
The asylum inhaled.
She felt pressure inside her chest — not pain, but expansion, as if something ancient was learning how her heart worked.
With a scream, she slammed into the doors again.
Wood cracked.
Cold night air rushed in.
She tumbled onto the stone steps outside Redwood Asylum.
Silence.
The building stood behind her — abandoned, lifeless, just another ruin beneath the moon.
Sirens wailed somewhere far away.
Amelia laughed and cried, pressing her palms into dirt, breathing real air.
She was free.
Then she stood.
And noticed her shadow.
It didn't rise with her.
It remained upright on the steps.
Facing her.
Smiling.
Behind her, Redwood's windows lit slowly — one… two… three… like eyes opening after sleep.
Amelia's chest tightened.
She felt the building breathe through her ribs.
Crowe's voice whispered from inside her lungs:
"You are the corridor now."
Amelia opened her mouth to scream —
—and Redwood listened.