Before she could change her mind.
When the door opened again, she stepped through without hesitation.
The corridor stretched ahead, familiar yet strangely distant, as though she were seeing it properly for the first time. Her steps were quick, almost impatient, carrying her toward the staircase. The sound of her shoes against the polished floor echoed faintly, louder than it should have been after so many days of silence.
At the bottom of the stairs the space opened into the sitting area, just as she remembered, clean, controlled, untouched by time. Nothing had visibly changed.
And yet everything felt different.
Because she was standing there now.
Because she was no longer locked away.
Because, for the first time in weeks, she could breathe.
