Indeepmani

The camera pans across a dimly lit basement. Chains hang from rusted hooks. A wall stained with something that could be blood, or paint, or both. In the corner, a woman sits calmly, hands tied, eyes steady.

ALLIE (V.O.):
They say the mind can shatter like glass. But what they don't tell you... is that the pieces don't always want to come back together.

broken minds

Every time her eyes drifted shut, she saw the gloves.

Her arms ached in ways they never had before—not from injury, but memory. As if her muscles remembered something her mind refused to.

Allie began retracing her steps, obsessively. She scoured her phone records, GPS logs, even checked her voicemail, as though Mara had left clues for her own sick amusement.

Each breadcrumb twisted the knife.

Hotel rooms she never remembered booking.

Receipts for hardware stores. Rope. Zip ties. Bleach.

But nothing came close to what she found beneath her bed—tucked in a shoebox labeled "Winter Sweaters."

Some she recognized from the news. Others… weren't public.

Each one was marked with a single word in red ink:

Chapter Eleven – Allie