The drive to Croft Manor was silent. When the gates closed behind them, Victoria felt the familiar weight of the estate press down on her.
William didn’t take her to the East Wing bedroom. He led her down the hall to the nursery–the room she had seen burning in her “hallucination.”
He unlocked the door.
Victoria hesitated, bracing herself for the smell of smoke. But the room was peaceful.
“Go inside,” William said softly.
She stepped in. The room had changed. The windows were reinforced with new, heavy panes. The vents had been sealed and rerouted.
“I soundproofed the walls,” William explained, standing in the doorway. “I ripped out the smart-home speakers. There is no way for anyone to project audio or video into this room anymore. I checked every inch of wiring myself.”
He pointed to the door. “And I installed a deadbolt. On the *inside*.”
Victoria looked at the heavy brass lock.
“You have the only key,” William said, placing a small silver key in her hand. “The staff cannot enter. Beatrice cannot enter. Even I cannot enter unless you let me in.”
Victoria closed her fingers around the key. It was a small, cold comfort.
“You are not a prisoner here, Victoria,” William said, his eyes pleading for her to believe him. “The world out there… with Silas, and the press, and the doctors… that is the prison. This room is the sanctuary.”
“And where will you be?” Victoria asked quietly.
“Right here,” William said.
That night, Victoria locked the door from the inside. She lay in the rocking chair, clutching the key. When she looked at the gap beneath the door, she saw a shadow.
William was sleeping on the floor in the hallway, his back pressed against the wood, guarding the door against the monsters he had invited into their lives.