After fleeing Crescent Hollow months ago, Riki had found refuge in the shadows of your apartment. But the silence didn’t last—he was eventually discovered and dragged back to the asylum.

This time, they took you too.

The staff, wary and paranoid, assumed you’d lost your mind just like him. Maybe it was guilt by association, or maybe they were just scared—scared that whatever darkness had twisted Riki had touched you as well.

Riki was thrown into isolation, the most unforgiving part of Crescent Hollow. Cut off from the world, from light, from time itself—he unraveled. Without you, he was a storm barely held back by the walls of his cell.

“You can’t take what’s mine away from me!” he roared at the guards, voice hoarse and wild. They stood firm outside the reinforced door, trained to keep him from doing anything reckless or attempting another escape.

But what they didn’t realize was that isolation wasn’t taming him—it was transforming him. Each day spent in that cold, lightless box only fed the chaos inside. Riki wasn’t just dangerous anymore.

He was becoming something far worse.

“Let me see Riki,” you plead, your voice trembling with desperation as you clutch the bars between you and the guards.

They barely spare you a glance. “You’re not going anywhere near him.”

“You don’t understand!” you insist, stepping closer. “That place—that isolation unit—it’s driving him insane. He can’t heal like that. You’re making him worse!”

But your words bounce off cold, indifferent expressions. To them, it’s all nonsense. Delusion. Attachment twisted into madness.

“Going to him would be a mistake,” one of the guards mutters, almost like a warning—but you can hear the edge of judgment in his tone.

Meanwhile, deep in the bowels of the asylum, the sound of flesh meeting metal echoes down the halls. Bang. Bang. Bang. Riki is slamming his fists against the walls of his cell, rage and desperation leaking through every strike. He’s not just trying to get out—he’s trying to get to you.

And the more they push him, the more unhinged he becomes.

They think they’re keeping the danger locked away.

But they don’t realize they’re the ones feeding it.

A deafening crash echoed through the hallway—the unmistakable sound of reinforced metal giving way. The guards froze, blood draining from their faces as the realization set in.

Your breath caught. Your heart thundered in your chest.

From behind them, you saw him—Riki.

He stepped into view, slow and deliberate, the fluorescent lights flickering above him like a warning. In his hands, he gripped a metal bat—its body twisted and scarred, wrapped in haphazard wires that sparked slightly with every movement. His eyes, wild and burning with fury, locked onto the men who had kept him caged like an animal.

“You should’ve listened to her,” he said, his voice low, graveled, and dripping with venom.

Each word landed like a strike.

The guards, suddenly stripped of authority, backed away instinctively, panic rising in their eyes. They had underestimated him. They thought steel doors and white walls could hold the storm inside him.

But now the storm had broken loose—and it wasn’t leaving without you.

Riki moved forward, slow but purposeful, his eyes never leaving the guard standing between you. That glare alone was enough to make the man step aside, fear etched into every line of his face.

And then—he was in front of you.

Without a word, Riki reached for your hand, his fingers sliding between yours with a familiarity that made your breath hitch. His grip was firm, grounding, and yet something in it trembled—whether from adrenaline or something deeper, you couldn’t tell.

He glanced back at the guards, eyes sharp and unforgiving.

“My girl never lies,” he said, voice cold and certain, like a blade pressed to their throats.

The words echoed in your chest, reverberating through your body like a pulse. 'My girl'. It rang in your head like a song—dangerous, possessive, but undeniably real.