Chapter 2: The Asylum’s Labyrinth
Chapter 2: The Asylum's Labyrinth
The corridors of Rosengard Asylum were a chiaroscuro of shadows and flickering fluorescence, each step Seraphina took echoing like a dirge. Her new identity clung to her like a second skin—ill-fitting, suffocating. Yet survival demanded adaptation.
She memorized the asylum's layout from the novel: the West Wing housed non-violent patients, the East Wing was a fortress of padded cells and iron bars, and the subterranean level... that was where *he* resided. Xavier Laurent. The Mad King.
Lucian's warning reverberated in her mind, but curiosity was a siren's call. *Knowledge is armor*, she told herself.
"Dr. Vale," a nurse greeted, her voice tremulous. "Patient Seven in Ward B is febrile. He's asking for you."
*Patient Seven.* The asylum's coded nomenclature for its most dangerous residents. Seraphina's pulse quickened. *Not him. Not yet.*
"Prepare antipyretics and a sedative," she ordered, her tone steadier than she felt. "I'll assess him shortly."
The nurse paled. "But Dr. Vale, he's—"
"—under my care," Seraphina interjected, channeling Aanya's surgical precision. "I'll handle it."
---
**Ward B** was a crypt of whispers. The air reeked of bleach and desperation. Behind a reinforced glass door, a man thrashed against leather restraints, his roars guttural, inhuman.
Seraphina's fingers tightened around her stethoscope. *This isn't the OR. These aren't sterile problems.*
"His fever spiked an hour ago," the nurse said, hovering at the threshold. "He claims he's burning from the inside."
Seraphina approached the bed, her gaze clinical. The patient's pupils were dilated, veins bulging like inkblots beneath his skin. *Poison? Psychotropic overdose?*
"Who administered his last dose of medication?" she demanded.
"Dr. Graves. Per protocol."
A muscle in Seraphina's jaw twitched. Lucian's protocols were meticulous, but the novel had hinted at sabotage—a mole in Rosengard, feeding information to Xavier.
"Draw blood for toxicology," she instructed. "And cancel all further sedatives until we rule out—"
A laugh cut through the room. Low, melodic, and laced with madness.
Seraphina froze.
The sound came from the corner—a figure slouched in shadows, wrists cuffed to a chair. His head tilted lazily, violet eyes glinting like shards of amethyst under moonlight.
"Hello, Doctor."
Xavier Laurent's voice was silk wrapped around a dagger.
Her breath hitched. The novel had described his allure, but reality was a sucker punch. His beauty was grotesque—a fallen angel carved from marble and malice.
"You're not supposed to be here," she said coldly, though her pulse betrayed her.
His lips curved. "And yet, here I am. Fascinating, isn't it? How the universe bends to my whims."
She turned to leave, but his next words coiled around her like a noose.
"Tell me, Seraphina Vale... do you taste copper when you lie?"
---
**The Observation Room**
Lucian's fist slammed against the one-way glass. "What is she *doing* in there?!"
The guard stammered, "Sh-she insisted, sir. Said it was her duty."
"Duty?" Lucian snarled. "Laurent's a viper. He doesn't converse—he dissects."
On the other side of the glass, Seraphina stood rigid, her face a mask of icy composure. Xavier leaned forward, chains clinking, his gaze predatory.
"Your hands are trembling, Doctor," he purred. "But not from fear. From *recognition*. You see it too, don't you? The rot festering in this place."
She met his stare. "You're delusional."
"Am I?" He laughed, the sound jagged. "Then why does your heartbeat sing to me? *Lub-dub. Lub-dub.* So... *alive*."
Seraphina recoiled. *He can hear it?*
In the novel, Xavier's hyper-awareness bordered on supernatural—a side effect of his psychosis, the author had implied. But fiction was one thing. This...
"Stay out of my head," she hissed.
His smile widened. "But where's the fun in that, little sparrow?"
---
**Later, in Her Office**
Seraphina stared at the bloodwork report, her mind racing. The toxicology screen was clean. No toxins. No drugs.
*Impossible.* The patient's symptoms suggested acute poisoning, yet...
A knock interrupted her thoughts. Lucian stood in the doorway, his expression stormy.
"You interrogated Laurent."
"Observed," she corrected. "And he's not the source of the outbreak."
"Outbreak?" Lucian's brow furrowed.
"Three patients now present with identical symptoms—fevers, hallucinations, vascular distress. It's not random. It's a pattern."
Recognition flickered in Lucian's eyes. "You think someone's testing a substance on them?"
"Or *someones*," she said pointedly. "Laurent's empire spans biotech. He'd have the means."
Lucian shook his head. "He's been incarcerated here for months. No outside contact."
Seraphina leaned back, steepling her fingers. "And you trust your staff implicitly?"
The question hung between them, charged.
---
**Midnight, Subterranean Level**
Xavier Laurent traced a finger along the cold steel wall of his cell, humming a lullaby only he remembered. The guard outside slumped unconscious, a syringe glinting in the dim light.
The door creaked open.
"Took you long enough," Xavier drawled without turning.
A figure stepped inside, face obscured by a hood. "The doctor suspects."
Xavier's grin was feral. "Let her. She's far more entertaining than Eleanor ever was."
"You promised me protection," the figure hissed.
"Ah, but promises are such fragile things." Xavier rose, his chains falling away—fake, always fake. "Tell me... does she dream of me yet?"
The figure hesitated. "She's not like the others."
"Precisely." Xavier's violet eyes gleamed. "She's the first knot in my unraveling. And I do so love to... *tug*."
---
**End of Chapter 2**