Lorraine's POV
My knees were still shaking as I stood.
My breath hadn't returned fully, but there was no time to waste. That vision, it wasn't just some fever dream or desperate illusion. I could still feel the cold of that place under my skin, still hear the whisper of chains rattling in the dark.
The Ghosthound was real.
And I had seen her prison.
I turned to glance at the photo one last time. The girl with her face covered in long, tangled blonde hair. Was that her? It had to be.
I grabbed the picture and folded it into my pocket, then slipped out of Astrid's office, making sure to relock the door behind me. The hallway was silent. Too silent. The kind of stillness that wraps around you like warning, an omen that you were doing something you weren't meant to survive.
But I kept moving. Fast. Determined.
