Part 93
Adrian wakes to quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that comes with peace—but the kind that presses against his chest, heavy and wrong.
For a few seconds, his mind can't place where he is. The air smells faintly of lavender and dust. The ceiling above him isn't familiar. He sits up slowly, his head heavy, his mouth dry.
A folded blanket slips off his legs. There's a table beside the bed with a glass of water and a small note.
His name is written on it in neat, deliberate handwriting.
"Adrian, you're safe now. Don't be afraid. I'll explain everything soon."
His breath catches. The words blur for a moment as his pulse kicks up, a dull pounding behind his temples. He looks around — the curtains drawn tight, no light except the soft leak of morning through their edges.
He tries the door. Locked.
That single click of the handle sends something sharp through his chest. He steps back, staring, his thoughts stuttering.
"Alex…" he whispers.
He remembers her voice last night, soft and trembling, the faint warmth of tea between his hands, and then—nothing.
Adrian runs a hand through his hair, trying to steady himself. His reflection in the dark window looks like a stranger: pale, disoriented, frightened.
He sits down again, forcing his breathing to slow. He needs to think, not panic.
If Alex did this, there has to be a reason—twisted as it might be. Maybe he can use that. Maybe he can talk to her, find a way to make her believe he understands, until he figures out how to get out.
He looks at the note again, the words looping endlessly in his mind: You're safe now.
Safe.
He almost laughs.
"Yeah," he mutters under his breath. "Safe."