ONLY IN THE DARK

ASH BETWEEN US

Aurora woke to the scent of smoke.

Not the harsh bite of fire, but something softer like wood burning low, like warmth that lingered in your lungs after the air cooled. It clung to her skin, to the thin sheet tangled around her legs, to the hollow of her throat where his breath had been hours ago.

She sat up slowly, her head still hazy, not from sleep but from the memory of last night. The way his mouth had found hers like it had been looking for years. The way his hands had mapped her like territory no one else had dared to claim.

Saint was gone.

No sound. No shadow in the doorway. No trace except for the faint black smudge on the edge of the sheet where his fingers had gripped too tightly.

Aurora pressed her palm there, as if she could catch the heat he left behind.

It was stupid. Dangerous. Addicting.

Footsteps approached down the corridor slow, deliberate, not his.

She was already up, wrapping the sheet around herself, when the knock came.

Two sharp raps.

Nothing else.

When she opened the door, a guard stood there, his eyes scanning her like he knew, like he’d been told exactly what had happened in this room.

“Director wants to see you,” he said. No explanation. No hint of whether this was a summons or a sentence.

Aurora’s throat tightened.

She stepped out, and for a moment, her bare toes brushed against something on the floor. A small folded scrap. Her stomach dropped.

She palmed it before the guard could notice.

Inside, in the same jagged ink as before:

"They’re watching us."

She didn’t know if “they” meant the guards, the other patients, or whoever Saint really worked for. But she did know one thing, her pulse wasn’t racing from fear alone.

Aurora’s fingers curled tighter around the scrap of paper as she followed the guard down the corridor. The note felt alive in her hand, like Saint had pressed a part of his pulse into it before it reached her.

Her mind turned the words over and over, the edges sharper each time. Was it the guards? The other patients? Or someone higher someone who sat above all this like a spider in its web?

The silence between her and the guard was heavy, punctuated only by the echo of boots against the linoleum. Every few steps, she caught him glancing at her not in curiosity, but in assessment. Like she was a file to be read, not a person to be spoken to.

They passed through a part of Greywood she’d never seen. The air here was different, cooler, cleaner, with none of the faint chemical tang she’d grown used to. When the hallway ended at two imposing oak doors, the guard stopped and knocked twice.

From inside, a voice low and steady, said “Bring her in.”

The guard pushed the door open, and Aurora stepped into a room that didn’t belong to an institution at all. Dark wood shelves lined the walls, cradling rows of books that smelled faintly of age and dust. A fireplace glowed at one end, its smoke curling lazily upward, the scent almost identical to the one clinging to her sheets that morning.

Behind a wide desk sat a man she had never seen before. His suit was immaculate, dark as wet ink, and his hands were folded neatly atop a leather bound folder.

Her folder.

“Miss Vale,” he greeted, his tone smooth but carrying the weight of someone used to being listened to. “Please. Sit.”

Aurora hesitated, every instinct warning her not to give him the satisfaction of obedience but the guard behind her shifted, and she lowered herself into the chair.

The man studied her for a moment, his gaze steady, searching. “You’ve been… making connections,” he said, flipping the folder open without looking away from her. “That can be dangerous in a place like this.”

Her fingers twitched in her lap, itching to clutch the note again. She kept her voice steady. “Depends on who you think I’ve been connecting with.”

A faint smile ghosted across his mouth, like she’d confirmed something he already knew. “Saint,” he said simply.

The way he spoke the name made the air in the room feel heavier.

Aurora’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t flinch.

If the Director expected her to crumble at the mention of Saint’s name, he was going to be disappointed.

“I see,” she said, her voice low. “You’ve been watching me too.”

The Director’s eyes glimmered, though the rest of his face remained unreadable. “Miss Vale, I watch everyone here. But Saint…” He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Saint has a tendency to break the rules. And people who get too close to him… tend to end up regretting it.”

Her pulse kicked harder, but not from fear. “Is that a warning or a threat?”

He tilted his head. “Whichever keeps you alive.”

Silence filled the space between them, but it wasn’t empty, it was thick, humming, like something was moving under the surface of his words.

“You’ve been here long enough to know Greywood isn’t… ordinary,” he continued. “What you don’t know is that Saint isn’t, either. And whatever you think you’re feeling for him—” he tapped the folder— “will not end the way you imagine.”

Aurora met his stare, refusing to give ground. “Maybe that’s my risk to take.”

The faintest smirk curved his mouth, but it wasn’t amused. “Risk implies choice, Miss Vale. And I’m afraid you don’t have as much of that as you think.”

He closed the folder with a quiet thud.

The guard moved forward, and the Director’s gaze shifted toward the door. “Take her back to her room. And make sure she stays there.”

Aurora stood, but as she turned, the Director’s voice followed her, calm and sharp as glass.

“Tell Saint,” he said, “that I’m watching him too.”

The door closed behind her, but her skin still prickled with the weight of his stare. As the guard led her back, she slipped her hand into her pocket, feeling the note again.

They’re watching us.

Now she knew exactly who “they” included.

And for the first time since she’d arrived at Greywood, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to run from Saint… or run to him faster.