I stop.
The others go still with me.
The noise comes again, faint but unmistakable, somewhere nearby in the twisting halls. Unease crawls through me instantly.
“Ash…” I whisper, turning toward him. “Did you hear that?”
His expression shifts immediately, the lightness gone. “Yeah.”
The warmth in the hall disappears just as quickly as it came. And just like that, our moods are tense.Is it another crying woman? Or the same one?It sounds like the same one, and my heart breaks. I just want to help her. No matter what she’s going through.
But I shake my head firmly, feeling a pull in my chest that I can’t ignore. “Please. Let me talk to her.”
“Alette…” Ashton starts, already knowing where I’m going. “It’s just someone crying. Sometimes people cry.”
“Could be nothing,” Oberon says. “People break in places like this.”
I look between them, my chest tightening.
“She sounds… really upset,” I say quietly. “What if she doesn’t have anyone?”
There’s a brief pause. Not disagreement. Just hesitation.
“I cried sometimes,” I say quietly. “No one ever cared enough to check on me.”
Pain flashes across their faces, and I realize that my pain hurts them. It’s a strange realization.
“I just want to check,” I add. “That’s all.”
Their expressions shift, subtle but real.
Cassius nods once. “We’ll remain close.”
Sylvian steps closer to me, his voice low. “You call for us if anything feels off.”
“I will,” I promise.
The sound comes again, clearer now.
A quiet, broken sob.
I turn and follow it, the others falling in behind me as we move down the hall. The noise leads us to a door slightly ajar, faint light spilling through the narrow gap. The same door as before, and I flashback to what I found last time. The woman and the strange wall of names.
My hand hovers over the wood. The crying is unmistakable now.
I glance back at them. They’re already in position. Watching, alert, close enough to reach me in a second. Waiting. For me.
I draw in a breath. Then push the door open.
The woman is hunched over, her back to me, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs that slice through the silence like a knife. The dim light from the single torch on the wall casts long shadows across the room, illuminating the wall that seems to pulse with sorrow. The same strange wall of names carved into the stone.
Her hand rests on one name in particular, her fingers tracing the letters as if they hold a sacred meaning: Timothy Greenwal. I wonder if it’s someone she knows. Or has known. For some reason, I get the feeling her tears come from a broken heart.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” I say softly, taking a tentative step forward.
She flinches and stiffens, her head snapping around to look at me, her wide eyes glinting in the shifting torchlight like those of a startled deer.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” I continue, raising my hands slightly, a gesture of peace. “I heard you again, which can’t bea coincidence. Maybe I was meant to find you here. Maybe we were meant to talk about whatever is hurting you so much.”
