Chapter 78: Eleanor’s POV

When I finally woke, I thought I was still dreaming.

The ceiling above me was too bright—flat, white panels shining down like sunlight with all the warmth stolen out of it. My eyes hurt. My head ached, a slow, throbbing pain right at the base of my skull. I tried to move my arms and found them heavier than usual, my whole body thick, slow, numb like I’d been lying in one position for too long.

I blinked, struggling to clear the fog from my brain.

This wasn’t Rick’s mansion. This wasn’t my house, with the peeling wallpaper and the warm smell of Mom’s pancakes floating up from the kitchen. This wasn’t even the last safe place I remembered.

I stared around the room, letting panic settle into me like a cold stone in my stomach.

Sterile. That was the first word that came to mind. Clean, white walls. No windows. One metal door, locked tight, with a tiny camera blinking red from the corner. No decoration, nothing personal. The bed beneath me was hard, the blanket scratchy and thin. There was a small tray on the side table with water, crackers, and a plastic spoon—like a hospital, but emptier, lonelier.

I tried to sit up and found I could, just barely. My limbs trembled as I pulled myself upright, and a wave of nausea swept through me. I pressed my hand to my mouth, breathing slow.

How long had I been here?

What had they done to me?

I touched the back of my head, feeling for a bandage or a scar. There was nothing—just hair, tangled and greasy. My skin felt wrong, too. My mouth was dry. Every muscle in my body ached like I’d run a marathon in my sleep.

I closed my eyes, searching my memory for the last thing I remembered.

Running.

Rain. The sound of tires screeching. Shouts in the dark. Rick’s voice, urgent and desperate. Alex’s name on my lips.

Then nothing.

A gap, like someone had pressed pause on my life and set me down in the middle of a blank page.

\---

I forced myself to focus on the details.

The room was small, maybe ten by ten feet. No windows, just that one locked door and the ever-watching camera. The only sound was a faint, mechanical hum—air vents, probably, and the soft click of electricity moving through wires behind the walls.

I slid off the bed, bare feet cold against the floor.

Every movement felt heavier than it should have, but I made myself walk the perimeter. I ran my hands along the walls, checking for seams or cracks. Nothing. Whoever built this place wanted it to be inescapable.

I sat back on the bed, fighting the urge to cry.

Crying wouldn’t help me now. I had to be smart. Careful. Calm.

I counted the seconds between the blinking of the camera’s red light.

One. Two. Three. Blink.

One. Two. Three. Blink.

I wondered if there was someone on the other side, watching me. Waiting for me to do something—anything.

I closed my eyes again and pictured my family.

Mom, probably making calls, leaving voicemails with the police, begging them to take her seriously. Dad, cold and silent, burying himself in work, pretending he hadn’t signed his own daughter away. Chris, angry and confused, blaming the world and maybe himself. Lena—God, Lena—worrying, crying, maybe blaming herself for not doing more.

I felt so far away from them all.

I reached for the only thing I could control: my breath. In, out. In, out. Counting heartbeats, slowing the panic.

\---

Time passed in drips and drops.

The door stayed closed. The camera blinked. Nobody came.

At some point, the tray of food was changed—quietly, efficiently. I heard a lock click, the door creak, and a pair of gloved hands switch out my tray for a new one. I caught only a glimpse of a white sleeve, a mask, eyes looking straight ahead.

I tried to speak—my voice caught in my throat, raspy and unused.

“Where am I?” I whispered.

No answer.

The door shut. The lock clicked. Silence.

\---

I spent the hours searching for patterns.

The food arrived at regular intervals, twice a day, maybe three. Water was always cold, fresh. The room was always spotless, the blanket always straightened, the air always just a little too cold. Sometimes I thought I could hear faint voices in the walls, but when I pressed my ear to the plaster, there was nothing but static.

Every time I felt sleep pulling at me, I fought it off. I didn’t want to drift again, afraid I’d wake to find myself somewhere even worse.

I began to keep track of the lights, the hums, the routine.

\---

It wasn’t long before someone finally came in.

The door opened with a hiss, and a man entered—tall, dark suit, mask covering his mouth, eyes cold and unreadable. He held a tablet in one hand and a pen in the other.

He didn’t smile.

He didn’t introduce himself.

He simply pulled up the single metal chair in the corner and sat across from me.

“Miss Hayes,” he said, his voice clipped and professional. “How are you feeling?”

I stared at him, refusing to answer.

He tapped the tablet, not waiting for a response. “Good. You’re alert. That will make the next phase easier.”

I flinched. “What phase?”

He looked up at me, and I felt a chill run through my veins. “Phase Zero.”

The words settled in the air, heavy as a tombstone.

I swallowed. “I don’t know what that is.”

He didn’t react. “You will. In the meantime, try to rest. You’ll need your strength.”

He stood, smoothing his suit, and started to leave.

“Wait—where am I?” My voice cracked. “What are you going to do to me?”

He paused at the door. For a split second, I saw something flicker in his eyes—regret, maybe, or pity.

Then it was gone.

“All questions will be answered soon,” he said.

The door closed behind him.

\---

I let myself sob for a few minutes, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. I couldn’t lose myself. Not now. Not when Alex might still be out there. Not when my family was still waiting.

I wiped my face and forced myself to think.

If they were going to erase me—my memories, my mind—I had to act fast.

I searched the tray, the sheets, every crack and crevice for anything I could use as a weapon or a tool. The plastic spoon was too flimsy, but I snapped it in half and tucked the sharp edge up my sleeve. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

I started pressing my ear to the walls again, listening for footsteps, voices, clues. This time, I heard faint murmurs—a guard outside, another voice deeper in the hallway.

“…transfer tomorrow night… The Carter guy’s getting close…”

Carter.

Alex.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

They were moving me because they thought Alex would find me. That meant he was still fighting.

Hope flared inside me, fragile but alive.

\---

That night, I lay on the bed, eyes wide open, plotting.

I pretended to eat, then slipped water under the mattress, anything to make them think I was sicker than I really was. If I could fake an illness, maybe I could force them to move me—or at least get a guard inside, someone less prepared, someone I could overpower. I ran through every escape movie I’d ever seen, every trick, every desperate idea.

The door opened twice—first for food, then for the man in the suit again. He watched me with those cold eyes, asking how I felt, scribbling notes, saying nothing else.

He never touched me, never got close.

I waited for a slip, a mistake, anything.

Nothing came.

\---

Time was losing its meaning. My thoughts kept looping back to Alex—his smile, his stubbornness, his hands wrapped around mine. The memory felt faded at the edges, but I clung to it, letting it anchor me to myself.

I pictured Lena, Mom, Chris.

I whispered their names at night, so I wouldn’t forget.

The fear was always there, gnawing at me, but underneath it was something harder—anger. They had taken so much from me. They weren’t taking the rest without a fight.

\---

The next morning, things changed.

I woke to the sound of voices—sharper, more urgent. The food tray was late. The light in the ceiling flickered once, then again.

Something was happening.

I pressed my ear to the wall and heard one guard hiss, “They’re speeding up the process. Orders from the top. Phase Zero is a go.”

My hands shook, but I forced myself to stay calm.

The man in the suit returned. This time, he carried a small vial.

He set it on the table, met my gaze.

“This is a sedative. You’ll be moved soon. The procedure will begin at midnight.”

I swallowed. “Why are you doing this?”

He was silent for a long moment. Then, quietly, “Some things are bigger than both of us, Miss Hayes. This isn’t personal.”

I almost believed him.

Almost.

\---

After he left, I checked the bedframe, searching for anything else I could use. My body was weak, but my mind was still mine.

A voice came over the intercom—cold, metallic.

“Miss Hayes. Please prepare for transfer. Phase Zero begins at midnight.”

I gripped the broken spoon tight, heart pounding.

If I had one chance to get out, it had to be tonight.

\---

I waited, watching the seconds tick by on the wall clock.

The guards came for me at 11:55, two men in white, masked, their eyes expressionless.

I played along—weak, unsteady, head bowed.

They led me out into the hallway, the world outside my cell just as empty and cold. I memorized every step, every turn, every security camera.

One chance.

At the end of the hall, a door hissed open. I felt the plastic of the spoon’s broken edge in my palm.

I hesitated, waiting for the perfect moment.

As they guided me toward a metal gurney, I stumbled—on purpose. One guard grabbed my arm to steady me.

I jabbed the broken spoon into his side.

He yelped, dropped me. The other guard lunged, but I twisted, rolling off the gurney and crawling for the far door.

Alarms blared.

Red lights flashed.

Someone shouted, “Get her! Don’t let her reach the main corridor!”

I ran, bare feet slapping the tile, heart screaming in my chest.

For one glorious second, I thought I might make it.

But then—

A sharp sting in my neck.

Darkness swallowing me whole.

\---

The last thing I heard before slipping under was the intercom:

“Initiate memory shutdown. Phase Zero begins at midnight.”