Eighteen

LOVETH'S POV

I was terrified to make a sound, so I remained silent, listening intently until the footsteps faded. Only then did I let out a small, shaky breath.

The ceiling above me started to tremble, and the light bulb hanging from it began to swing violently, casting erratic shadows across the cell. A loud crash of metal reverberated through the room, followed by a woman's bone-chilling scream, slicing through the silence and filling me with dread. Then came the sound of laughter—deep, twisted, and dripping with sadism.

The relentless noise frayed my nerves until I couldn’t bear it any longer. In frustration, I rose to my feet and began shouting.

"Let me out!" I yelled, rattling the bars with all my strength, but they were solid, unyielding.

"Don't waste your energy," came a voice from behind me, calm and unsettling.

I whipped around, my gaze falling on a girl crouched in the corner. She was casually inspecting her fingernails as if this was all perfectly normal.

"Even if someone hears you," she said, her voice almost detached, "they’re not going to let you out. This is a place for the damned."

"The damned? But I haven't done anything wrong," I protested, feeling a twinge of panic claw at my chest.

She looked up at me, a hollow smile playing on her cracked lips. Her eyes looked lifeless.

"They never bring the wrong person here. You must have done something truly awful," she murmured, her words cutting through the air with eerie conviction.

"I haven't done anything," I insisted, moving to sit beside her, hoping for some semblance of comfort.

She laughed—a dry, unsettling sound—and crawled towards me on her hands and knees. Her face was gaunt, her skin pale and dry, and her scent was musty, like damp earth and decay. Her cracked lips twisted into a sneer as she drew nearer.

"You look innocent. So did I, once," she said, her tone filled with something that sounded almost like pity.

"But I am innocent," I replied, feeling desperation rise in my chest. She only laughed again, then slithered back to her corner, her bony fingers curling around her knees.

"How long have you been here?" I ventured, needing her to talk, to distract myself from the growing dread gnawing at me.

She began counting on her fingers, her eyes distant.

 "Ninety-nine years, I think."

My stomach dropped. She looked no older than twenty, yet claimed to have been imprisoned for nearly a century. My mind scrambled for an explanation, the idea that I might be in an asylum creeping back to me. Maybe this place was designed to drive people mad, to break them.

Oh no. I think maybe staying in here has made her delusional. She didn't look a day over twenty but she claims to have been in here for ninety nine years. This was definitely an asylum. I read somewhere that a few of the buildings looked like prisons.

"What’s your name?" I asked, trying to keep her talking.

"I don't have one," she replied flatly, her voice devoid of emotion.

Gracious, I'm definitely in an asylum, but who could have brought me here. Matters still worse, I needed her to keep speaking.

"Everyone has a name," I said, incredulous.

"Not me," she snapped, almost offended by the suggestion. "Don’t worry about my name. Worry about what they’ll do to you when they come."

My heart skipped a beat. "Who are they?"

"Wolves," she said simply, her eyes locking onto mine with unnerving intensity. "Shifters."

"Wolves?" I echoed, hardly able to process her words. 

“That’s impossible. Werewolves don’t exist.”

With each word that left her lips, I was more convinced that I was in an asylum.

She laughed, loud and hollow, drowning out the dripping water echoing through the cell. “You’ll see. Soon, you’ll understand just how real they are.”

I stared at her, struggling to comprehend. “You said this is a place for the damned?”

"Yes," she answered with grim certainty. "And there's no escape."

She gnawed on her fingernails, chewing them down to jagged, bloody edges, a grotesque display that made my stomach churn.

"We're all killed eventually,” she murmured. “And when your time comes, you will be, too."

I tried to shake off her words, clinging to whatever courage I had left. 

“What did you do to end up here?" I asked, hoping to shift the conversation.

"I'm a rogue," she replied with a faint, bitter smile.

A rogue. The word sounded familiar. In stories, it referred to werewolves who lived outside of packs. Was this really happening? The absurdity was almost laughable, but she continued with a grim resolve.

"My mate was murdered,” she went on, her tone cold and detached. “So I sought revenge. Killed over a hundred wolves, a few powerful ones, too. Eventually, they caught me.”

She returned her focus to her nails, her voice turning wistful. “That was ninety-nine years ago… or more. I've lost track."

“Do you think they’ll come for me soon?” I asked, trying to mask the tremor in my voice.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Very soon.”

My stomach knotted. 

"Isn’t there any way out of here?"

Her laughter filled the cell, shrill and mocking. “Those who try to escape die first. Don’t be foolish.”

I looked away from her, examining the bars. There has to be some kind of way out of here. I had to find a phone and call Kelilah and tell her that I had somehow been trapped in an asylum. I pulled at the bars harder and shouted again in frustration.

“Someone come get me out of this asylum!!”,

She laughed out loud, as if I was displaying a comedy for her.

"So you think I'm crazy. Just relax and wait for your time. Perhaps then we would know if I'm crazy or not?” she said in an eerie voice.

Defeated, I slumped back, my hope crumbling. The girl’s gaze remained fixed on her nails, but occasionally she would look up, her eyes sharp and aware.

A chilling silence filled the cell, and I was startled when she suddenly looked at me, her face twisting into a grim smile. 

“They’re coming.”

I backed away instinctively, scanning the cell. 

“Who?” I whispered.

“The wolves. It’s time for your judgment.”

Judgement? A shiver raced down my spine. I strained to hear anything—a distant door, approaching footsteps—but there was only silence. I glanced at her, wanting to believe she was just trying to scare me.

But then, faint footsteps echoed down the hall. My breath caught.

"Pray for death, dear," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

I was about to argue when a tall figure appeared outside the bars, his face hidden by a mask. He punched a code into a panel beside the gate, and with a metallic click, the door creaked open. I pressed myself back against the wall, watching him warily.

"I'm taking you up to see the Alpha",

Alpha. Yet another term used to describe the leaders of a pack of wolves. Was this man also crazy? Wolves shifters couldn't be real.

My eyes darted to the open gate, but he quickly stepped in, blocking my only chance of escape. He pulled off his mask, revealing a familiar face. Recognition jolted through me.

“Kyle? Wasn't he one of the inspectors in our kingdom?”