Chapter Seven - Splinters

There was no clock. No windows. No sky.

But Matt knew it was morning.

He could feel it in the ache behind his teeth. In the way the air got colder, thinner—like even the world outside didn't want to look at him in daylight.

He hadn't seen a mirror in weeks, but he imagined his face was a ruin. Skin pulled too tight. Eyes gone red. And the blood—he didn't know whose it was anymore. Might've been his. Might've been old.

Might've been part of the game.

The speaker crackled.

Then silence.

Then—

> "You ever think about her?"

Matthew's head snapped up. Voice like silk dragged across broken glass.

Bishop.

> "Your daughter. Mia. The way she used to laugh when you did that ridiculous duck voice. What was it you said? 'Quack, quack, Daddy's back?'"

Matt's breath caught. His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into skin.

> "You really thought you could save her, didn't you? That rehab would fix everything. That if you could just get clean long enough, she'd forget the way you screamed at her mother. The time you left her at that gas station. That birthday you missed because you were chasing a high in a motel with two strangers and a stolen Bible."

The speaker cut. Then flicked back on.

This time, the voice wasn't Bishop's.

It was Matt's own. Recorded. Warped.

> "Please, baby, just—just wait in the car, okay? I'll be right back. Daddy's just—Daddy's sick, he just needs something."

Matt fell forward, hands covering his ears.

"No, no, no—"

The door across the room opened with a low click.

Matt froze.

Light poured in—harsh, surgical.

And in the doorway… a silhouette.

Small. Thin.

A girl's voice.

> "Daddy?"

Matt's eyes blurred. His throat closed.

"Mia?"

She stepped forward.

But her feet didn't touch the ground.

She floated. Just an inch. Just wrong enough.

Her eyes were glass. Her voice hollow.

> "Why didn't you come back?"

Matt screamed.

And the door slammed shut.

Darkness swallowed everything again.

And Bishop's voice returned, soft and satisfied.

> "Redemption isn't real, Matthew. But regret? Regret lasts forever."