Chapter 15 - Sector Nine
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing a long, brilliantly lit corridor lined with reinforced glass observation rooms. The air here was colder, charged with the quiet hum of advanced neurological monitors and life-support machinery.
We walked down the corridor, our footsteps echoing sharply against the seamless white flooring.
In observation room 9-B, a woman sat at a sleek glass desk, reviewing a series of complex brain-wave mapping charts on a high-definition monitor. Her hair was pulled back in a familiar, elegant knot, her posture upright and precise.
Caroline.
My breath caught in my throat. Five years of mourning, five years of phantom grief, five years of sitting in a dark mansion mourning a ghost—all of it shattered in a single fraction of a second.
I stepped up to the reinforced glass door, my hand resting flat against the cold surface.
Caroline looked up from her monitor, her eyes drifting casually toward the hallway.
When her gaze met mine, the pen slipped from her fingers, clattering sharply against the glass desk.
For three long, agonizing seconds, the world stopped spinning. The clinical hum of the machinery faded into nothingness.
Then, Caroline stood up slowly, walking toward the glass wall with trembling steps. She placed her palm directly opposite mine against the transparent barrier, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock, terror, and profound, undeniable guilt.
"Grant..." she whispered, her voice carrying faintly through the intercom speaker in the wall. "You... you're supposed to be blind. You're supposed to be in the dark."
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I pressed the intercom button, my voice cold enough to freeze liquid nitrogen.
"Hello, Caroline," I said. "Surprise."
