Page 91 of Bound By Crimson

Chapter Ninety-One

The Attic

Lyric took one last look at her room, realizing the items she almost left behind.

Her father’s cardigan.

Her mother’s locket.

And the journal.

She wrapped the cardigan tightly around her shoulders, pulling it close like armor.

The knit smelled faintly of cedar and something steadier. Safer.

Around her neck, her mother’s locket rested cold against her skin. She curled her fingers around it, just once.

She tucked the protein bar and the small bottle of water into the inner pocket of the cardigan—Bernarda’s quiet offering.

Then the journal. She slipped it beneath her arm, the pages heavy with everything she still didn’t understand.

And with nothing left to lose, she walked through the attic door.

Toward the unknown.

Toward whatever came next.

She didn’t know what she was hoping for—just that she had to find it .

Lyric climbed the attic stairs with the journal pressed to her chest, breath held tight in her lungs.

Every creak beneath her feet sounded like a scream.

Please let there be a way out.

She stepped into the attic.

It was brighter than she remembered—sun filtering through dust-coated windows, illuminating the old wood and forgotten things.

She scanned the walls.

Left. Right. Far end.

Where is it? Is there another door?

She moved carefully, eyes skimming every inch of old wood, looking for anything—a seam, a rope, a panel.

Then—

A voice.

From below.

“Oh, you vile girl. You never learn.”

Lyric spun.

She crept back to the stairs, peered down—

Editha.

Standing at the base. Looking up.

Hands folded. Smile venomous.

“Come down here at once!”

Lyric’s heart thudded in her chest, but she stood her ground.

Her hands fisted in the thick fabric of the cardigan.

The metal of the locket pressed cool against her chest—a tether, an anchor.

Editha’s voice rose.

“Did you hear me? I said come down at once!”

Lyric stepped back from the stairwell.

“How about you come up here?”

She said it calmly. But her voice carried steel.

A flicker of something passed over Editha’s face.

Fear?

Just as Eden wrote— she hated the attic .

But then Editha straightened. Smiled.

Cruel and composed .

She held up a small iron key.

“Suit yourself.”

Click.

The attic door shut. Locked from the outside.

Lyric flinched—but only for a second.

She closed her eyes. Inhaled deep.

Then turned back toward the attic.

Let her lock me in.

There’s more than one door out of here.

There has to be.