She didn’t remember making the promise, but her signature was there all the same. It was printed across the glass wall of the chamber, etched in a looping script that repeated endlessly around the room. Her name. Her consent. Over and over again. “You agreed to stay inside,” the voice said from the intercom. “I didn’t,” she snapped. “You did,” it replied. “Multiple times.” She turned slowly, taking in the room. No doors. No seams. Just the glass—and beyond it, darkness. “What am I containing?” Silence. Then: “Yourself.” The word echoed strangely. Her pulse quickened. “That doesn’t make sense.” “It will,” the voice said. She pressed her hands against the glass. It was warm. Almost alive. Memories flickered—brief, disjointed. Moments of fear. Of loss of control. Of hurting someone. No—many people. She stumbled back, breath shallow. “That’s not me,” she whispered. “It is,” the voice said gently. “And it isn’t.” The promise repeated along the glass again. I agree to remain until it is safe. Her vision blurred as the fragments aligned, forming something she couldn’t ignore anymore. This wasn’t a prison built for her. It was one she had designed. For something she couldn’t risk letting out. Even now. Especially now. She steadied herself, forcing the panic down. Then stepped away from the glass. Whatever happened next, it would no longer be an accident.