The rage building in my chest feels good. It feels righteous. She is ours, and Halstead doesn’t get to touch what belongs to us, not anymore. I walk out of the door and into the darkened corridor, the one forgotten by time, and only remembered by the ghosts that inhabit this place. “Are we going to get my broken dolly back, Bash?” Wren’s childlike voice echoes behind me. “Yes, brother, we’re retrieving what belongs to us, and while we are at it, we will do some redecorating of Wellard Asylum.”
