Jean hadn't fallen asleep yet.
Her eyes were glued to the pages of her book, her mind tangled in the fantasy world she had been so absorbed in.
But then a sharp, acrid scent wafted through the air. It was faint at first, just a whisper that tickled her nose.
If her sense of smell wasn't as sharp as it was—or if she hadn't been jolted by the sheer strangeness of it—she might have ignored it entirely.
But she didn't.
Jean's breath hitched, and her gaze tore away from the words on the page. Her heart picked up speed as she sniffed the air, the pungent odor becoming stronger, more invasive. Fuel.
She stood quickly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor as she abandoned it.
The coldness of the night air from her slightly ajar window brushed her skin as she approached it cautiously.
Looking outside, she caught sight of a shadow darting away, disappearing into the darkness like a phantom.
Her frown deepened. Who was that? What were they doing?
And then she heard it—the distinct, steady sloshing sound of liquid being poured from a container.
Her stomach twisted, a sickening realization creeping into her mind. The scent wasn't just fuel—it was everywhere now, choking the air around her.
Her eyes widened as the pieces fell into place.
Someone was pouring fuel around her quarters. Someone was trying to burn her alive.
Panic struck her like a lightning bolt. Her heart thundered in her chest as she grabbed her dress, her fingers trembling with urgency.
She bolted to the door, wrenching at the handle with all her might, but it didn't budge. It felt as though the door itself was resisting her, trapping her in place.
"No… no, no, no," she whispered, her voice quivering.
She pulled harder, panic now coursing through her veins. The door groaned under her efforts but refused to yield.
Locked. She was locked in.
Her mind raced. Lucius?
No, it couldn't be him. He wouldn't do this. He couldn't do this. He had been locked away himself for so long; the very idea of confinement was something he despised.
Her breathing grew shallow as the horrifying truth settled over her like a suffocating shroud. This was someone else.
Someone with malice. Someone who wanted her dead.
Jean took a shaky step back from the door, trying to calm her fraying nerves. She couldn't afford to panic—not now. She needed to think, to plan.
Her legs carried her to the back door in a blur, her heart pounding like a drumbeat in her ears.
She tried the handle, her fingers slipping against it from the sheer force of her desperation. It was jammed.
"No, no!" she hissed, shaking the handle violently as though sheer force alone could undo the trap she was caught in.
Her mind spiraled into chaos. How long had she been reading? How had someone managed to lock all the exits without her noticing?
Jean pressed her back against the door, her chest rising and falling rapidly as the fuel smell grew stronger. It was so close now, suffocating her.
She couldn't think clearly. She couldn't breathe. Her fear had become a tangible force, threatening to consume her whole.
And yet—was it real?
Her thoughts stuttered. Could this be blood loss? she wondered, clutching at her head as her pulse raced uncontrollably.
Could blood loss cause hallucinations this vivid, this terrifying?
"No," she murmured, shaking her head violently as if trying to dispel the notion. This is real. This is happening.
But she couldn't stop the gnawing doubts at the edges of her mind. Her survival instincts screamed louder than reason, urging her to act.
Jean turned back to the door, her fists pounding against it with all her strength. The sound echoed through the room, merging with her shallow breaths.
"Let me out!" she screamed, her voice cracking under the strain, but still laced with fierce determination.
She didn't care if it made her sound hysterical, didn't care if it drew the attention of whoever lurked outside. All that mattered now was escape.
She had to get out—now.
The suffocating fear wrapped around her like a wet blanket, dragging her mind to a memory she thought she had buried long ago.
She was a child again, trembling in a dim, lonely cabin while the storm outside howled like an angry beast.
Her parents had left her there, just for a moment, they had said. They needed to fetch wood for the fire before the rain turned into a deluge.
But the moment stretched endlessly, a cruel eternity filled with the roaring clap of thunder and the relentless drumbeat of rain pounding against the roof.
She remembered how her small hands had clutched the edge of a blanket, her tiny frame huddled near the cold hearth.
The air had been thick, almost stifling, as if the storm outside had found a way into her chest, making it hard to breathe.
Every gust of wind that rattled the cabin walls felt like a threat, every flash of lightning a taunt.
It had been so hot in there, despite the lack of fire—hot and suffocating in a way that made her feel like the world was closing in.
She had screamed for them then too, her voice drowned out by the storm. No one came. The fear had settled deep into her bones that day, and it had never truly left.
Now, standing here with the acrid scent of fuel filling her lungs, that same fear surged back, gripping her chest with icy claws.
She could feel the oppressive weight of the cabin again, the walls closing in, the helplessness that made her want to claw her way out through sheer will.
"No," she whispered harshly, shaking her head as if to dislodge the memory. "Not again. I'm not staying here. I'm not going to suffocate in this nightmare."
She pounded on the door, her fists stinging, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The fear was loud in her mind, but so was the voice screaming for survival.
She would not be that frightened child again. She would get out. She had to.
Her blows became weaker as fatigue and fear began to take their toll. Her forehead rested against the wood, sweat dripping down her temple.
You're getting out of here, she told herself, her voice firm in her mind. And when you do, you'll find out you were just exaggerating.
But even as she thought it, the fuel stench seemed to mock her.
Where was Lucius? she thought lastly.