The Silence Between

There was no telling how much time had passed.

Ryleigh woke again to the same dim, flickering bulb above her. Her body still ached, but the sharp edge of soreness had dulled into something deeper—bruises settling into her muscles like old ghosts.

She sat up slowly, rubbing her face, her mind still thick with the fading traces of the dream. The grief clung to her like a film—too vivid, too close.

Then she saw it.

The metal table across the room was no longer empty.

A tray of food sat neatly on top: a bottle of water, a sandwich, an apple, and a folded note beneath a pair of gray clothes—soft cotton, a plain shirt and pants.

Ryleigh stared, confused.

She hadn’t heard anything. Not footsteps, not the door, not even a click of movement.

The door still looked bolted shut.

She stood and crossed the room, cautious. Her stomach growled before she even got close. The hunger was sharp now, the kind that made her hand tremble as she reached for the tray.

She unfolded the new note with one hand, the paper warm from sitting on the tray.

Be respectful and just listen.

—D

Her jaw clenched. She didn’t like the tone. Not a threat, exactly, but a warning—quiet, controlled, and impossible to ignore.

She stared at the tray a moment longer, then sat down on the floor and ate. Fast. Her body devoured the food with mechanical efficiency, but her mind raced the whole time.

How had they gotten it in?

She hadn’t been drugged. Not this time. No scent, no grogginess, no gaps in her memory. Someone had been in the room while she slept. Close enough to touch her. Close enough to leave a message. And she hadn’t heard a thing.

That realization made her skin crawl.

After finishing the sandwich and drinking every drop of water, she pulled on the gray clothes. They were soft and loose, slightly too big, but clean. Better than the thin uniform she’d been wearing. The change almost made her feel more human again.

She stood in front of the steel door and pressed her hand against it.

“Hello?” Her voice cracked. “Can someone hear me? I want to talk. Please.”

Nothing.

She banged her fist against the door. “You can leave food but not answers?”

Still no sound.

Her anger drained quickly, leaving her feeling stupid and small. She slid down to the floor, her back to the door, and rested her head against her knees.

They were watching. That much was obvious. But they weren’t talking.

She sat for a long time, staring into the stillness. The silence became a second skin.

Her thoughts drifted, and with them came the ache of memory.

I was supposed to move home.

She had planned to leave the city after graduation. The apartment had never really felt like hers, and after the accident, there was nothing tying her to it anymore. The house in Auburn Hills had been left to her in the will. The lawn would need mowing, the porch probably needed repairs—but it was still home.

She had already packed all her things. The move was supposed to be temporary, just to catch her breath, grieve in private.

Instead, she’d stayed.

The bills had piled up. The silence got too loud. So she took a job.

Night shift. Small diner just outside the city. Open 24 hours, but quiet after midnight. The pay was crap, but the tips weren’t bad, and the solitude helped.

She remembered wiping down the counter under fluorescent lights. Filling coffee for truckers and nurses. Her name on a tag she’d stopped noticing. The smell of grease and burnt toast. The hum of the dishwasher. The ache in her feet at 4 a.m.

It wasn’t a life, but it had been something to do while she tried to figure out who she was without them and where she wanted to use her new degree.

And now she was here.

Wherever here was.

She lay back on the mattress, curling onto her side. The tray still sat on the table. The second note sat next to the first one now, both bearing the same slanted script.

You're safe. Trust me.

Be respectful and just listen.

She stared at the ceiling and wondered if D was watching her now.

What kind of people took someone just to feed them and give vague instructions?

What were they waiting for?

Ryleigh didn't know what was coming next, but she could feel it—like the moment before a storm breaks, when the air holds its breath.

And she would be ready.

Or so she thought.

Ryleigh sat up when the bolt on the steel door shifted with a deep clank. The sound echoed in the small cell like a crack of thunder. She jumped to her feet, heart pounding so loud she swore they’d hear it before they even stepped inside.

She expected… she didn’t know what.

A guard, maybe. A masked figure. Some man in black with answers and demands.

She did not expect an older woman.

The door opened slowly, revealing a tall, straight-backed woman with long gray hair braided down her spine. She wore a fitted charcoal dress and high heeled boots, but her most arresting feature was her eyes—ice-gray and sharp, like tempered steel. Cold, calculating. The kind of eyes that saw through lies and weakness and everything in between.

She stepped in without hesitation, and behind her came a man.

Huge.

He had to duck under the doorway, broad-shouldered and silent, his expression unreadable. Dressed in black from head to toe, he stood like a wall—still, menacing, and watching her with a predator’s calm.

The woman stopped just inside, eyes sweeping the room before settling on Ryleigh. She didn’t smile. She didn’t offer a greeting.

“Good,” the woman said. Her voice was low, smooth, but held an edge. “You ate.”

Ryleigh didn’t move. Her throat was dry again, despite the water she’d finished earlier. “Who are you?”

“I’m not here to answer your questions,” the woman said plainly. “I’m here to see if you’re as stubborn as they said you’d be.”

Ryleigh’s spine stiffened. “Who said that?”

The woman tilted her head. “You’ll find out. But not yet.”

The man behind her didn’t move, didn’t blink. Just stood with his arms crossed over his chest, like he was waiting for permission to act.

Ryleigh swallowed hard. “Are you D?”

The woman’s mouth twitched—just slightly. Not a smile. Not really. “No.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To give you a chance,” she said. “To see for myself if you're going to be a problem. Or if you will listen.”

“To what?”

The woman didn’t answer. Instead, she took a step forward, slow and deliberate.

“I don’t care what you believe right now,” she said. “But everything is about to change. Your world, your past, your future—none of it is what you think it is.”

Ryleigh shook her head, heart racing. “You’re insane.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

The woman studied her for a moment longer, then turned toward the door.

Ryleigh’s hands curled into fists. “Wait—where am I? Why me? What do you want?”

At the door, the woman paused. “You’ll get answers soon. But they come at a cost.”

“What cost?”

“Understanding.”

With that cryptic remark, she stepped back through the door. The massive man followed silently behind her, but not before he gave Ryleigh one last look—an assessing glance, as though he were memorizing her face, her posture, the tilt of her chin.

The door shut behind them with a final, echoing clang.

The bolt slid back into place.

Ryleigh stood there, stunned, heart pounding in her chest like a trapped bird.

She had been ready for monsters.

She hadn’t been ready for them.

Not the woman with the cold eyes. Not the calm that clung to them like smoke.

And definitely not the feeling in her gut—like something old and invisible had just stirred, and was now watching.

From somewhere deeper than the cell, deeper than this place.

She slowly sat back down on the mattress, breathing shallow and quick.

Who was D?

And what had she just been tested for?