Aris stood outside Door Twelve. The corridor lights flickered, casting her shadow long and jagged across the stone floor. Twenty-four hours since their first session. Her notebook felt heavier in her hands, filled with notes she'd rewritten twice to sound objective.
She nodded to the guard. He unlocked the door without comment. Inside, the air hung thick—damp stone, faint salt from the sea, Riot Wilder's presence like smoke that wouldn't clear.
He sat at the table this time, cuffs already fastened, posture unchanged. But his eyes found hers immediately. Waiting.
"Dr. Throne," he said. No smirk. Just her name, low and even.
"Mr. Wilder." She took her seat, flipping open the notebook. "We'll pick up where we left off. Your service record."
"Classified."
"Redacted, not classified." Her pen tapped once. "Linguistics specialist. You read subtext."
"Still do."
Silence stretched. The storm had passed, leaving only wind rattling the window panes. She pressed forward. "Describe the dreams."
He leaned back, chains shifting. "Faces in the dark. Voices overlapping. Sometimes they're orders. Sometimes screams. Last night—" He paused, eyes narrowing. "You were there."
Her pen stilled. "Projection. Common in isolation."
"Specific projection. White coat. Gloves. Checking restraints." His gaze dropped to her hands, then back up. "Sound familiar?"
Heat crept under her collar. She kept her voice level. "You overheard staff talk."
"Maybe. Or maybe Greyvale keeps better records than you think."
She marked evasion. "The outburst in Wing Four. Three orderlies injured. Explain."
"Self-defense."
"Against what threat?"
"They came with needles. I said no." His jaw ticked. "You'd do the same."
"I follow protocol."
"Until you don't." He tilted his head. "Like Westhaven."
Her breath caught—sharp, involuntary. "How do you know that name?"
"Same way I know you flex your left hand when cornered." He nodded at her fingers, curled tight around the pen. "And the same way I know you came back alone. Again."
The room shrank. Wind howled outside, pressing against the glass like it wanted in. Aris set the pen down deliberately. "This isn't about me."
"Isn't it?" Riot leaned forward, voice dropping. "You think you're observing me. But I see you watching yourself in the window reflections. Checking if the mask still fits."
She should end the session. Call security. Instead: "What do you want from this, Riot?"
Truth, not protocol. His name slipped out unbidden.
He stilled at it. "Same thing you want. Someone to see through the bars."
The air thickened between them—charged, too close. His cuffs gleamed dull under the light. Her pulse matched the faint rattle of his chains when he shifted.
"Tell me something real," she said quietly.
He held her gaze. "The dreams aren't random. They're memories. Experiments. Not mine. Borrowed."
"Elaborate."
A knock at the door—guard checking time. Aris ignored it. "Riot."
"Room 19. Five years ago. They tested memory transference. Drugs. Electrodes. One subject didn't wake up." His eyes never left hers. "Sound like your ghost?"
Her chair scraped back. She stood too fast, blood rushing in her ears. "Session over."
"You know it's true." He didn't move. "Why else would you feel it?"
She reached the door, hand on the knob. Turned back once. His expression wasn't triumph. Just certainty. And something else—hunger, not for escape, but understanding.
The door sealed shut. In the corridor, her knees nearly buckled. Room 19. She hadn't spoken that number aloud in years. Hadn't thought it.
Footsteps echoed behind her—Dr. Merrin, clipboard in hand. "Everything stable?"
"Fine." Lie. Her voice too tight.
He eyed her. "Isolation patients test everyone. Don't let Wilder rewrite your history."
Too late.
Back in her room, Aris tore open her old Westhaven file from the locked drawer. Page 47: Subject termination during Phase II, Mnemosyne Protocol. Room 19.
Riot's gray eyes burned behind her lids when she blinked. Borrowed memories. Or shared.
Tomorrow's session loomed like the next crack in the glass.
Author's Note
Thank you for reading Chapter 3 of When the Quiet Breaks. The past is bleeding into the present—Aris can't unhear what Riot knows. Subscribe now for Chapter 4, where she decides whether to confront him... or dig deeper into Greyvale's buried secrets. What breaks first?