As night spread across the island, a heavy silence settled over the castle. Tension clung to the walls like mold—thick, suffocating. No one had confessed. No one ever would.
I stood beside Lilith's bed, clutching her chart. My heart sank with every line I read. I closed my eyes—not in fear, but in pain. Deep, throbbing pain that burned low in my gut.
The doctor walked in and ripped the folder from my hands.
"What are you doing here?" he snapped. "You know this area is forbidden for maids."
I didn't flinch. I looked at him with blank eyes, voice barely a whisper.
"When will she wake up? She needs to be taken to the city."
He shook his head.
And before my knees could give out, I lowered myself into the chair beside her bed. I took Lilith's hand in mine, cold and bruised, and finally let the tears fall.
They weren't loud. They were quiet and bitter.
How could people be this cruel?
She needed real medical care—machines, surgeons, blood banks. But here? Here she was a body on a rotting mattress, her worth determined by how much she could still clean or serve.
That's when it hit me.
The only way off this island... is death.
The doctor muttered, barely meeting my gaze.
"She has internal injuries. I've done what I can. Whether she survives… depends on her."
The doctor left the room, and I was alone—just me, the weight of silence, and the faint, steady sound of Lilith's heartbeat on the monitor. I turned toward the open window, the curtains fluttering like ghostly hands in the wind.
I walked over and closed it slowly.
The wind had gushed in moments before, and for the first time since it happened, I felt like I'd done something that mattered. Something that wasn't just surviving.
Even if I couldn't save Lilith that night, the memory of his screams still echoed sweetly in my mind. His begging, his panic. It was music. And it soothed something inside me—something that had been starved for justice.
I closed my eyes and let the cool air kiss my skin, savoring the moment.
Then… something shifted.
My sixth sense—sharp from months of watching my back—tightened like a vice. The hairs on my neck rose.
I wasn't alone.
I turned, slowly.
But there was no one.
I looked around the room, scanning every corner—but it was empty.
Until my eyes stopped on the camera, mounted above the door. Cold. Unblinking. Watching.
I hadn't even noticed it before.
A chill ran through me—not from the breeze, but from the silent truth pressing in. Every breath, every glance, every moment... was being monitored now.
I turned slowly back toward the window, schooling my face into blankness. Calm. Harmless. Pretending I hadn't just faltered.
Pretending I hadn't just realized that I was prey being studied.
The factory door burst open with a deafening crack as Rex stormed in, his fist still clenched from slamming it. Every girl flinched, the sound echoing like a gunshot. We froze, sewing machines stopped, breath caught.
"Sit tight in your goddamn chairs, bitches!" he barked, his voice scraping like gravel. "If you won't open your mouths, I'll make sure you're begging to talk when I'm through with you."
He wasn't bluffing. His eyes held that feral glint—the kind that said pain was a game he enjoyed playing.
But even as fear slithered down my spine, one thought wouldn't let go.
If there were cameras… Why aren't they using them?
Why the waiting?
Why are they dragging us out one by one like it's a test?
Did I miss something?
What the hell are they playing at?
Before I could dwell deeper, the door slammed again—this time behind us. Two guards charged into the laundry station. Their grips were bruising as they yanked Lily and me by the arms.
"Move!" one snapped.
We didn't have time to resist.
As we were dragged down the hallway, Lily's fingers twitched toward mine. We weren't sure if we were being taken for questioning, punishment, or worse—but I knew one thing for certain.
Someone's pulling strings behind the scenes.
The halls were quieter than usual, but not peaceful.
Too quiet.
There was no laughter from the guards. No shouting. No vulgar jeers echoing off stone walls. Only stiff footsteps and whispered conversations behind closed doors. The kind of silence that didn't soothe—it warned.
Something had changed.
The murder investigation had shifted from suspicion to obsession. Guards patrolled every corridor like hounds without a scent—frustrated, restless, snapping at shadows.
I passed a group of them in the eastern hall. Their eyes lingered too long on me. Watching. Not with the hunger I was used to—but with suspicion. Like they were trying to see beneath my skin. Trying to guess if I knew something I shouldn't.
If I'd done something I shouldn't.
One of them muttered under his breath, "The bastard had it coming," and another elbowed him sharply. They were cracking too. That was good. Cracks meant weakness. Cracks meant an opening.
But cracks also meant danger.
Lily and I had started walking with our heads lower, our steps quieter. Everyone was holding their breath, waiting for someone to slip. Waiting for someone to be dragged into the courtyard and made an example of.
And it's not just me anymore.
The guards dragged us through the metal corridors, our shoes scraping against the cold concrete floor. The hall reeked of bleach and sweat — the kind of scent that clung to fear. They didn't say a word.
We were shoved into separate rooms.
Mine was bare. A single chair. A single table. And a camera blinking red in the corner.
I sat. Not because I was told, because I wanted them to know I wasn't afraid of their silence.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours.
Then the door creaked open.
A different kind of man stepped in — not brutish like the guards. Clean, composed, and cruel in a way that didn't need fists. The kind who killed with words and smirks. Or maybe worse, he looked like one of the Moretti family underdogs.
He is the right hand man, Kirk. I felt a goosebump under his gaze.
He sat across from me, placed a folder on the table.
Didn't open it.
Didn't speak.
Just stared.
I stared back.
Finally, he leaned forward, voice low and calm — too calm.
"You were in the corridor two nights ago. Storage room wing."
I didn't flinch. "We all pass through corridors."
He opened the folder. Photos. Still frames from cameras.
Except — there were no shots of me.
Just time stamps. And then… static.
He tapped a finger on the image of blank footage.
"This camera conveniently malfunctioned. Right when Derek was bludgeoned to death."
I kept my breathing even. "Seems like you need better electricians."
He smiled, slow and sharp. "Do you know what happens to women who play games here?"
"I'm not playing," I said. "But maybe someone else is."
His smile vanished.
He stood, towering over the table. "Someone helped you. Someone wiped the footage. Why would anyone risk their life for a maid?"
I leaned forward, voice quiet but firm. "Maybe someone finally got tired of seeing monsters walk free."
His eyes darkened. "Careful."
"I am."
He slammed the folder shut and turned on his heel. "We'll find who did this. And when we do, they'll die alongside you."
The door slammed shut behind him.
And I smiled.
Because now I knew something he didn't.
Someone else out there was playing this game too.
So many unanswered mysteries. Some will be buried deep inside the ground of this island again. Unanswered.
Suddenly the door kicked open and Rex stormed in, eyes wild as he pointed at me.
"You sly bitch. You did something," he shouted.
I didn't look away. Even though my heart was racing and the room suddenly felt smaller, I stood my ground.
I could smell the cigarette on him.
"You don't have any proof that it was me. You can't accuse me," I said, my voice calm even though my hands were clenched tight behind me.
"I don't believe you," he growled.
And then he grabbed me—his hand fisting my hair and yanking it back so hard tears burned in my eyes.
"Tell me the truth and I'll lighten your punishment," he hissed between his teeth.
I stared at him through the blur. My scalp burned, but I didn't break.
"I told you—I don't know anythi—"
He slapped me.
Hard.
Before I could even process it, another slap landed across my face.
And then another.
"SPEAK! CONFESS!" he yelled like an animal.
"I didn't do anything!" I screamed, my voice cracking as my cheek throbbed like it was on fire.
He finally stepped back, breathing heavily. He stared at his own hand, the same one that had just hit me again and again.
Then he sneered.
"Go look outside in the courtyard. See what a girl's worth around here."
And he left.
My knees felt weak, but I walked out.
And when I saw it—my heart dropped.
Like something sharp had sliced through it from the inside.
The day was draped in heavy gloom, clouds swallowing the sky in thick darkness.
There she was—Lilith.
Lifeless.
Gone.
She finally escaped this hell.
All this... just because she was a woman.
I stared at her body in silence. Around me, the girls cried—not just in grief, but in terror. I realized what Rex's words meant.
Terror that one of them could be next.
The rain pounded against the island like fists from the sky. Maybe even heaven had grown tired of burying bodies here. Maybe the island itself was trying to wash away the stench of death.
The guards approached, roughly gripping the stretcher to carry her away. I didn't think—I moved.
Blocked their path.
"This bitch—get aside," one of them barked.
I didn't move. The rain blurred my vision, the sting in my eyes not just from water but from rage.
I shook my head. "We can't let a man touch the body of a girl who died because of a man," I said. My voice was hoarse, but the fury behind it cut through the storm.
They hesitated.
Looked up at the supervisor.
A pause. A silent decision.
He gave a nod. A reluctant one.
They set the stretcher down.
And I turned to the girls.
The girls stepped forward in silence, their eyes hollow, swollen from crying. Each of us took a side of the stretcher. My fingers tightened around the wooden handle, the shovel gripped in my other hand. Rain poured down in thick sheets, soaking us to the bone, but we didn't stop. The mud sucked at our ankles with every step, as if the island itself wanted to pull us under—to bury us with her.
No one spoke. The only sounds were the squelch of our feet in the soaked earth and the endless rhythm of rain hitting flesh, wood, and ground. My throbbing swollen cheek was long forgotten in front of this pain.
We reached the tree. That damned tree near the factory grounds—the one that had watched too many graves be dug beneath its roots. I glanced at Lilith's face one last time. Her skin was cold, paler than snow. Her lips slightly parted like she still had something left to say.
I knelt and brushed her wet hair back. "Rest now," I whispered, my voice barely audible beneath the storm. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you."
We lowered her gently into the grave, and I began to dig. Each stab of the shovel into the earth sent pain up my spine, but I didn't stop. Neither did the others. Our dresses were soaked and clung to our skin, our fingers raw from the cold, but no one flinched.
When the grave was covered, I looked up. Zept, the girl with the scar across her lip, stepped forward. "Ava," she said quietly. "Lilith must be at peace now… knowing she had a sister like you."
I tilted my face toward the sky and closed my eyes. Let the rain strike me. Let it remember her name. Let it wash the blood and guilt from my soul.
Goodbye, Lilith.