Chapter 7 Where Silence Breathes

Elara

The gates didn't creak - very quiet.

They whispered open - smooth, effortless, like they'd been waiting for her.

Steve drove through without a word, tires gliding over cobblestones so pristine they looked polished. The air shifted, heavier somehow, as though she'd crossed into a different atmosphere.

The mansion loomed ahead.

It was made of glass and stone, all clean edges and impossible symmetry. Not warm. Not lived-in. It was the kind of place that didn't open its arms, not homey - it just watched.

The car stopped in front of a curved driveway flanked by perfectly trimmed hedges and silence.

No staff.

No welcome.

Just doors that opened on their own.

Steve stepped out and walked around to open hers.

She gathered her things and stepped out slowly, blinking against the stillness. Even the birds seemed to avoid this part of the world.

"This way," Steve said, already walking toward the entrance.

She followed.

The doors opened with a faint hiss, revealing a hallway that smelled faintly of eucalyptus and marble. The floors gleamed. The walls were pale, lined with abstract art that looked like it had been selected to impress no one.

A woman appeared soundlessly at the end of the hall.

Late thirties. Crisp gray uniform. Hair pinned back like it had somewhere to be. She approached with the poise of someone who knew better than to smile too wide.

"Dr. Raye," she said, with the smooth efficiency of an elevator voice. "Welcome to the Mercer residence. My name is Hilda. I'll be assisting you with your stay."

Elara nodded. "Thank you."

Hilda gestured toward a side corridor. "Your quarters are ready. The first session is scheduled for 10 a.m. sharp. You'll find a briefing file in your suite. Please review it before your meeting."

"Of course," Elara murmured, trying to absorb it all.

No warmth. No small talk. Just a mechanical flow of precision.

As she walked through the corridor, she caught glimpses of other doors - all closed. A few statues. Another long hallway that seemed to lead nowhere.

It wasn't just quiet. It was designed to be eerily quiet.

She felt like she was being softened - like a frog lowered into warm water that would slowly boil.

Hilda opened a door near the end of the wing and stepped aside.

"Your suite."

Elara stepped in.

Neutral tones. A bed so neat it looked afraid to be touched. A desk, a lamp, and a silver file laid perfectly in the center of it.

"Breakfast will be delivered in twenty minutes," Hilda added. "Please rest. And review."

Then she was gone - as silent as she came.

The door clicked behind her.

Elara stood alone in the room.

She set her bag down and walked slowly to the desk. The file was thick, its corner stamped with the Mercer insignia - a sleek "M" inside a ring.

She sat, flipped it open, and began to read.

First line:

Subject: Mercer, Zane Atticus. Primary evaluation begins 10:00 a.m.

There was a photograph paper-clipped to the file.

It was him.

Zane Mercer.

Black suit. Cold stare. Not looking at the camera - looking through it. Like he knew the person taking it. Like he was already tired of the entire idea of being documented.

Her chest tightened for reasons she couldn't name.

Below the photo were the first words he ever said to his last psychiatrist, according to the transcript:

"You want to heal me? I'm not broken. I'm just done pretending I'm not dangerous."

Elara closed the file slowly.

This wasn't a broken man.

This was a man who had sharpened his cracks into weapons.

This wasn't someone who needed to be glued.

He liked being in pieces.

It gave him edges.

It wasn't broken.

It was carved.

She flipped to the final page.

A sticky note was attached. Handwritten. Yellowed at the edge.

The handwriting was rushed. Slanted. Almost as if it had been written in fear.

If you're reading this... good luck.

He doesn't just lie.

He mirrors.

And when he does, you won't know who you are anymore.

Elara stared at it for a long time.

Then she closed the file.

And breathed in the silence that had suddenly started to feel very, very alive.