LOGINIsadora lay awake long after the lights dimmed, listening to the house settle into its controlled silence. Pipes whispered behind the walls. Footsteps passed at measured intervals. Somewhere far below, metal clinked against metal—keys, gates, systems locking into place.She did not move.Movement attracted notice.She breathed slowly, evenly, counting the seconds between each guard’s pass outside her door. The rhythm was steady. Predictable. Comforting to those who believed predictability meant safety.For her, it meant opportunity.When morning finally arrived, it came without warmth. Pale light slid across the floor, stopping just short of the bed. Isadora opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling.Three people.One chance.She rose quietly and dressed without hurry. Every gesture was deliberate. She did not want to look like someone preparing for something. She wanted to look like someone surrendering to routine.Routine was camouflage.She stepped into the corridor and began walki
She closed her eyes, then opened them again. The thought settled fully this time, heavier, clearer. Not only Amelia. Alina too. The idea did not arrive gently. It anchored itself in her chest, firm and unmovable. Alina’s face surfaced in her mind without effort—the quiet competence, the careful smiles, the way her hands always paused before touching anything valuable, as if permission were an invisible rule she never broke. Isadora pushed herself upright. Three people. The boat had to carry three people. That changed everything A single desperate escape could be hidden as an accident. Two could be explained away as negligence. Three was intent. Three was conspiracy. Three was unforgivable. She pressed her palms flat against the mattress, grounding herself. Panic tried to rise, sharp and fast, but she pressed it down. Panic wasted time. Panic invited mistakes. Think. She stood and crossed the room again, slower now, every step measured. Amelia could not run. Not far. Not
She closed the door behind her softly.The sound was quiet, controlled, but it felt final. Like sealing herself back inside something she already knew was too small.Isadora leaned her back against the wood for a moment, eyes fixed on nothing. Her chest rose and fell slowly as she forced her breathing to steady. The walk to the cliff had burned something away. Hope without shape. Illusions without edges.Now she had facts.No land route.No hidden path.No miracle swim.No escape without a boat.She pushed herself off the door and crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under her weight. Everything here was soft by design. Comfort was part of the cage.She rested her elbows on her knees and lowered her head.Think.Not panic.Not wish.Think.Boats did not appear on islands by accident.Food did not arrive by prayer.Fuel did not come by imagination.Which meant there was infrastructure.Hidden, guarded, controlled—but present.She lifted her hea
Light crept into the room in thin, pale lines, slipping past the curtains and touching the floor like it was testing the space first. Isadora lay still for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet rhythm of the house waking up around her.No footsteps near her door.No voices.No summons.That alone unsettled her.She sat up slowly.Today, she decided, she would stop waiting.She dressed quickly and quietly, movements practiced, controlled. There was no disguise in what she wore, no attempt to hide herself. She did not plan to run like prey. She planned to walk like someone who belonged.Because panic drew attention.Calm passed unnoticed.She opened the door and stepped into the hallway.The house was quieter than usual. Staff moved in the distance, heads down, focused on tasks. A guard stood near the staircase, posture relaxed, eyes forward.Isadora walked past him without hesitation.He glanced at her, then looked away.She kept going.Through the main hall.Pa
The hallway leading to the rooms on the lower floor was quieter than the rest of the house.Isadora felt it the moment she turned into it.The air was cooler. The light dimmer. The sounds of movement faded into something distant and muted, as if this part of the house had been designed to hold breath instead of life.Two guards stood near the door at the far end.They straightened when they saw her.“I want to see Amelia,” Isadora said evenly.One of them hesitated. The other looked toward the door, then back at her.“She is resting,” the taller guard replied.Isadora stepped closer.“So am I,” she said calmly. “That has never stopped him from interrupting me.”The guard’s jaw tightened. He did not argue. He opened the door.The room inside was smaller than Isadora’s. Not a cell. Not a cage. But not freedom either.The curtains were drawn halfway, letting in a thin line of light that cut across the floor. A bed sat against the far wall. A chair beside it. A small table with a glass of
Morning arrived without mercy.Isadora woke before the light fully entered the room, her body already tense, her breath shallow. For a few seconds, she did not move. She lay still, staring at the ceiling, listening.Nothing.No footsteps outside the door. No voices. No commands.Just silence.Her muscles ached as though she had been bracing herself all night, even in sleep. When she shifted slightly, a sharp reminder ran through her nerves—not pain, but memory. The kind that settled under the skin and refused to leave.She closed her eyes briefly.Control yourself, she thought. You are still here. You are still you.She sat up slowly, planting her feet on the floor. The room looked unchanged. The same curtains. The same chair by the window. The same careful order meant to feel comforting.It did not.She stood and walked to the window, pushing the curtain aside just enough to see outside.The garden was already active.Guards moved along the paths with sharper precision than before. T







