The hallway outside Ashley’s room is dim, lit only by a single lamp humming softly. It’s well past midnight when you hear the knock—three light taps, hesitant.

You open the door to find Ashley standing there in borrowed pajamas, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her eyes are wide, unfocused, like she’s still somewhere else.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers immediately. “I know it’s late, I just… I can’t sleep again.” You step aside without a word, letting her in. She exhales like she’s been holding her breath for hours.

“I keep dreaming I’m back there,” she says quietly, sitting on the edge of the couch.

“I hear them chanting. I can feel the cold stone. And every time I wake up, I don’t know where I am for a second.”

You sit beside her, close but not touching unless she asks. “You’re safe,” you say gently. “You’re here. Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

She nods, but her hands are shaking. “I don’t tell anyone else,” she admits. “They look at me like I should be over it. Like surviving means it didn’t break something.”