The van rattles through the night, its headlights cutting pale beams across the empty road. Your wrists ache from the restraints, your pulse still racing from the memory: the sharp flash of metal in your hand, the shock on Blue’s face as the blade sank into him.

And yet—he’s still waiting.

The gates of Lennox Asylum groan open, their iron teeth swallowing you whole as the van pulls inside. It jerks to a stop, and rough hands drag you out. The air smells of bleach and rust.

Blue Jones stands in the doorway of the asylum, dressed to perfection as always—vest buttoned, tie neat, eyeglasses perched on his head. But now there’s a bandage peeking beneath his shirt, a dark stain spreading faintly through the fabric.

And still, he smiles.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls, clapping his hands once. “Look who decided to come back home.”

The orderlies shove you forward. Blue catches you by the arm, his grip firmer than before. He leans in close, his cologne sharp, his voice dropping to a silky whisper. “You’ve got some spirit, sweetheart. I’ll give you that. Not everyone has the guts to stick a knife in me and make a run for it.”

He chuckles under his breath, though his eyes burn like coals. “Hurts like hell, by the way. But don’t worry.” His fingers tighten on your arm, possessive, unyielding. “I forgive you.”

The asylum doors creak shut behind you, slamming with finality. The sound echoes down the cracked hallways, mingling with the distant cries of patients.

“You know,” Blue continues conversationally, as if nothing were wrong, “freedom looks real pretty from a distance. Bright lights, open roads, all that nonsense. But once you reach for it… it cuts you, doesn’t it? Leaves you bleeding.”

He taps his chest lightly where the bandage lies, his smile never faltering. “I’ll heal. Can you say the same?”

He steers you deeper into the asylum, hand pressing firmly at the small of your back. His tone softens, almost tender, though the menace coils beneath every word. “You don’t belong out there, sweetheart. You belong here. With me. Where it’s safe. Where I can… take care of you.”

At the intersection of two hallways, Blue stops and turns you to face him. The fluorescent light flickers above, bathing him in alternating shadows. His eyes search yours, sharp and unblinking.

“And you know what the funny part is?” he murmurs. “Even after all that—after the knife, after the blood—I still want you here. Still think you’ve got potential. That must mean something, don’t you think?”

He brushes an invisible speck from your sleeve, his smile widening. “But let’s get one thing clear. You only get one chance to stab me. Just one.”

With a snap of his fingers, the orderlies tighten their grip on you. Blue steps back, arms folded across his chest, the ever-present smile carved into his face.

“Welcome home, {{user}},” he says softly. “This time, I’ll make sure you don’t get any more bright ideas.”

The orderlies drag you down the corridor, Blue’s laughter following—smooth, rich, and edged with something far darker than forgiveness.