ONLY IN THE DARK

TRUST NO ONE

Morning passed.

Same as afternoon .

Night came and aurora couldn't sleep.

She lay on the bed, eyes fixed on the crack in the ceiling, replaying every word the Director had said.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Saint’s face in the half-light his mouth at her ear, his breath warm against her throat.

She told herself she wouldn’t be stupid enough to go looking for him.

And then the lock on her door clicked.

She sat up fast. The shadows shifted, and there he was, leaning against the frame like he’d always had a key to her thoughts.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.

Saint’s mouth tilted, but there was nothing soft in it. “Funny. That’s exactly what the Director told me about you.”

He stepped inside without waiting for permission. The door shut behind him, and suddenly the air felt thinner, tighter.

“What did he say to you?” she asked.

Saint’s gaze slid over her bare feet, loose shirt, the way her fingers twisted the sheet. “Enough to know he’s trying to scare you off.”

Her heart thudded. “Maybe he’s right to.”

For a beat, Saint didn’t move. Then he was there, close enough that the heat of him brushed her skin. His hand came up, not quite touching her jaw, his fingers hovering like he was memorizing the space between them.

“Are you scared of me, Aurora?”

She should’ve said yes.

Instead, her breath caught, and that was answer enough.

Something dangerous flickered in his eyes, something that could burn her or keep her warm.

“I think,” he murmured, “you’re more afraid of what you’ll do if you’re not scared.”

Her pulse stuttered, then raced.

“Tell me what they want from you,” she said, because she had to break this spell before it swallowed her whole.

Saint’s smirk faded. “If I tell you… there’s no going back.”

Her fingers tightened on the sheet. “Then maybe I don’t want to.”

He looked at her for a long, unblinking second. Then he stepped back....not far, but enough that she could breathe again.

“They’re watching us,” he said quietly. “But they’re watching me for a reason.”

She swallowed. “What reason?”

Saint’s eyes were dark, unreadable. “Because they know the truth about Greywood. And they know what I’m planning to do about it.”

Aurora’s throat tightened. “And what is it you're planning to do?”

Saint’s jaw worked as if he was choosing between telling her the truth or walking away entirely. His silence was almost worse than the words he might have said.

The hum of the overhead light filled the room, steady, buzzing—like a reminder that every inch of this place was wired. Listening. Watching.

“I shouldn’t have come,” he muttered finally, running a hand through his hair. His voice was low, meant for her alone. “If they see me here too long, they’ll start asking questions. And they’re not the kind of people who like being lied to.”

She rose from the bed slowly, each step toward him feeling heavier than the last. “So leave, then.”

Something flickered in his expression, hurt, maybe, or challenge. He didn’t move.

Instead, Saint reached into the pocket of his dark jacket and pulled out a folded scrap of paper. He held it out to her. “Hide this.”

She hesitated, glancing at the door. “What is it?”

“Not here,” he said. “Not now. Just… keep it safe.”

Her fingers brushed his when she took it, and the contact shot through her like a pulse. It was reckless, that tiny connection—like touching a live wire—but she didn’t pull away fast enough.

“You have no idea what you’re stepping into, Aurora,” he murmured. “And once you do, you won’t get to step out.”

“Then stop pulling me in,” she said, but even she could hear the lack of conviction in her voice.

A muscle ticked in his cheek. “I’ve tried.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and her breath stilled. There was nothing polite about the way he looked at her—it was raw, unguarded, like he was imagining things neither of them were ready to admit out loud.

He stepped closer, his hand lifting as though he might cup her face, but at the last second, his fingers grazed her hair instead, tucking a strand behind her ear.

Her heart was beating far too fast.

She was suddenly aware of the warmth radiating from him, of the faint scent of soap and something darker—gunpowder? Smoke?

Saint’s lips parted slightly, and for half a heartbeat she thought—hoped—he’d close the distance. Instead, he leaned to the side, his mouth near her ear.

“They want me to play by their rules,” he whispered, “but I’m going to burn their whole game to the ground.”

Before she could respond, a faint click echoed in the hallway. Footsteps.

Saint pulled back instantly, all softness gone from his face. “Hide the note. Now.”

Aurora shoved it under the thin mattress just as the door opened.

A tall woman in a grey uniform stepped inside without knocking, her eyes sharp and assessing. “It’s late, Aurora. You should be asleep.”

“I couldn’t,” Aurora said evenly.

The woman’s gaze swept to Saint. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

“I was just leaving,” he said, his tone perfectly calm, as though nothing dangerous had just passed between them.

The guard or nurse, Aurora still wasn’t sure—stepped aside, and Saint moved toward the door. But before he left, his hand brushed hers lightly, almost imperceptibly.

Then he was gone, the door locking behind him with a dull click.

Aurora sank onto the bed, her fingers itching to pull out the folded scrap of paper. The woman in grey lingered a moment longer, then left without another word.

The moment she was alone, Aurora reached under the mattress and retrieved the note.

She unfolded it carefully.

Three words stared up at her: “Trust no one.”

Her stomach flipped.

She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or throw the paper away. Instead, she refolded it and tucked it into the waistband of her sleep pants. She’d decide what it meant in the morning—if she even got the chance.

Aurora didn’t sleep.

Every creak in the hallway, every faint echo of a distant door shutting kept her wired, listening. The scrap of paper felt like it was burning against her skin, branding those three words into her bones.

Trust no one.

By the time the thin grey light of morning seeped through the barred window, she’d replayed the scene with Saint a hundred times in her head—his voice, his eyes, the way his fingers had lingered just long enough to make it impossible to forget.

The breakfast bell clanged somewhere down the corridor, sharp and metallic.

Aurora moved stiffly, pulling on the drab sweater they’d issued her, hiding the note deep in the inside seam where no casual search would find it. She had no appetite, but she forced herself into the cafeteria with the others.

The air smelled faintly of overcooked oatmeal and disinfectant.

Eyes followed her as she crossed the room—some curious, some cold.

She slid into a seat at the far end of the table, keeping her back to the wall. From here, she could see everything: the double doors, the line of guards along the far wall, the small security camera perched in the corner.

If Saint was right, someone here already suspected her.

Her gaze snagged on a man two tables away—sharp features, dark hair, posture too rigid for someone pretending to be a patient. He didn’t look at her, but the deliberate way he stirred his coffee made her skin prickle.

She remembered Saint’s warning and looked away.

Halfway through the meal, a voice murmured close to her ear.

“You’ve made friends fast.”

Aurora stiffened. She turned to find the tall woman in the grey uniform—the same one who’d interrupted last night—standing over her.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Aurora said carefully.

The woman’s lips curved faintly, though there was nothing warm in it. “Don’t worry. The Director likes… spirited new arrivals. Just be careful you don’t burn out too quickly.”

And then she walked away, her boots clicking against the tile like a slow countdown.

Aurora’s pulse wouldn’t slow.

The paper in her sweater suddenly felt heavier than lead.

Aurora stayed seated long after the others began filing out. She didn’t want to be part of the shuffling line under the guards’ eyes, and didn’t want to be herded back like cattle. Every instinct screamed at her to make herself small, but her mind kept looping the woman’s words. Burn out too quickly.

It wasn’t a warning. It was a promise.

When the room finally thinned, Aurora rose, her chair legs scraping softly against the floor. She kept her pace even, but her senses stretched in all directions. The man from before, the one with the too-straight posture.... was gone.

The hallways smelled faintly of antiseptic, like someone had tried to erase every trace of what happened here, but couldn’t. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, flickering every few seconds, like they were breathing.

Her assigned room was down the east wing, but halfway there she slowed. A faint sound echoed from one of the closed doors, muffled voices, quick and clipped. She caught her own name.

Aurora’s heart clenched.

She shouldn’t stop. She should keep walking. But her feet betrayed her, pausing just close enough to tilt her head toward the seam of the door.

“…risk too high… Saint already—”

A scrape of a chair, then silence. Footsteps moving toward the door.

Aurora turned and walked—fast, but not running. The urge to look over her shoulder burned in her muscles, but she didn’t dare. She ducked into her room, shut the door, and leaned against it.

Her hands found the note in her sweater seam. She unfolded it, staring at those jagged words.

"Trust No One"

She wanted to tear it up, flush it, get rid of it before it got her killed. But some stubborn part of her refused.

Instead, she slipped it under the thin mattress, then lay on top of it.

---

The day passed in pieces.

Group therapy. A forced hour in the courtyard, where the winter air bit through the sweater and the guards’ eyes never blinked. A session in the art room where the supplies were so blunt and dull it felt like an insult.

Saint didn’t appear.

By evening, she wasn’t sure if she was more disappointed or relieved. The memory of last night hovered like a dangerous dream—something she shouldn’t touch but couldn’t stop herself from replaying.

Dinner was a blur. The same pale stew, the same undercurrent of eyes watching her. She caught sight of the tall woman again, across the room. Their gazes met for a fraction of a second before the woman turned away, speaking to a guard like Aurora had never existed.

When she returned to her room, a shadow was waiting.

Saint sat in the corner chair, the one half-hidden by the cheap curtain that served as her only attempt at privacy. His elbows rested on his knees, head lowered, but when the door shut, he looked up.

The air between them tightened.

“You weren’t followed?” he asked, his voice low.

“No.” She moved closer, but didn’t sit. “You left this.”

He didn’t ask to see the note. Didn’t even glance at her sweater seam. “I had to.”

Her pulse quickened. “Who exactly?”

His gaze was steady, unreadable. “Everyone.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting tonight.”

She wanted to push. Wanted to shake him until he spilled whatever he was holding back. But the look in his eyes—sharp, almost feral...made her pause.

Instead, she crossed her arms. “Fine. Then tell me why you’re here now.”

“Because you’re about to make a mistake.”

She frowned. “What mistake?”

“You’re asking the wrong people the right questions.”

The words lodged under her skin, prickling like static. “And who’s the right person?”

He stood, closing the space between them in two steps. “You already know.”

Her breath caught. He was too close—close enough that she could smell the faint smoke on his skin again.

“You need to decide,” he murmured, “whether you want to survive this place… or burn with it.”

And then, like last night, he was gone before she could answer.

---

Aurora sat on the edge of her bed long after the door clicked shut. The hum of the lights overhead felt louder, the walls closer. She pressed her hands together, trying to still their shaking.

The decision wasn’t as simple as he made it sound.

Because she wasn’t sure she feared burning.