Loraine spoke for the first time at dawn.
Jason almost didn't hear it.
He was seated in the chair near the window, watching the sky lighten, counting her breaths the way he had learned to do. The house was still. The kind of stillness that made even monsters cautious.
Then—
"Jason."
Her voice was hoarse. Thin. Barely there.
His entire body went rigid.
He stood so fast the chair scraped loudly against the floor. "Say it again."
She swallowed.
"Jason."
Relief flooded his face so violently it looked like pain.
"I knew it," he whispered, kneeling beside the bed. "I knew you'd come back to me."
She didn't look at him.
Words That Hurt More Than Silence
"I didn't stop talking because I forgave you," she said quietly.
Jason froze.
"I stopped," she continued, voice shaking but steady, "because I was afraid anything I said would disappear me."
He opened his mouth.
She raised a hand.
"No," she said. "Let me finish."
He obeyed.
That frightened him.
"I stayed quiet because you listen better when I don't exist," she said softly. "And I needed to exist."
Her eyes finally met his.
They were tired.
Not broken.
Jason felt something unfamiliar twist in his chest.
Fear.
He Tries to Hold On
"You're still here," he said quickly. "I didn't lose you."
She shook her head slowly.
"You never had me the way you think," she replied.
The words landed like a crack in glass.
"You saved my mother," she went on. "You gave me comfort. Safety. I loved you for that."
Jason reached for her hand.
She pulled away.
"But love doesn't survive fear," she said.
Jason's voice dropped. "You promised me."
"I promised you before I knew," she said quietly. "Before I understood who you were."
His jaw clenched.
"That doesn't undo the bond," he said.
She exhaled shakily.
"No," she agreed. "But it changes it."
He Realizes He's Losing Control
Jason stood and paced the room for the first time in days.
"You're talking like you're already gone," he said sharply.
She watched him.
"I'm talking like someone who remembers herself," she replied.
That was the moment Jason understood.
Silence had protected him.
Her voice threatened him.
The Girl She Used to Be
Later that day, alone in the bathroom, Loraine looked at her reflection.
She touched the faint marks still healing on her skin.
"I'm still here," she whispered to herself.
Her voice cracked—but it held.
She remembered the girl who went to the market.
Who laughed too easily.
Who believed kindness didn't come with chains.
Jason's footsteps paused outside the door.
She straightened.
Jason's New Fear
That night, he stood at the doorway watching her sleep.
She looked peaceful.
Too peaceful.
"You're thinking again," he murmured.
She didn't answer.
For the first time, Jason wasn't sure if watching her was enough to keep her.
Questions That Shift the Balance
What happens when the victim remembers her voice?
Can love survive once fear is named?
Is Jason afraid of losing her—or of losing control?
And now that she's speaking again…
who will hear her next?