Quin sat in her small, dimly lit apartment, the empty files scattered across the desk before her. Her mind was still reeling from the revelations of the night before. Elias's past-his childhood, his trauma, the horrifying events that led him to become the person he was-had shaken her. But now, in the quiet of the early morning, something else had settled over her: a quiet resolve.

She had learned the truth about Elias Ward. But the truth alone wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to know the reasons behind his pain, the past that haunted him. What mattered now was what she could do with that knowledge. What could she do to help him?

The question gnawed at her, keeping her up through the night. She had already spent countless hours studying his file, reading over every note, every detail. But it was in one of the last reports she had found something crucial-something she had missed the first time around. A small note written by one of the more seasoned therapists at St. Lorrence, tucked away in a section of his treatment records.

"Patient shows some progress when placed in controlled, supportive environments. There have been reports of positive reactions to one-on-one sessions with staff members who have established trust. However, patient must be monitored closely, as episodes of psychosis and violence are common. A breakthrough is possible, but it will take time and patience."

The note was brief, almost dismissive, but it gave her something she hadn't considered before: a path. She had spent so long trying to understand Elias from a distance, trying to figure out what made him tick, what had caused him to snap. But the real key to reaching him, she realized, was something much simpler. It was trust.

Elias didn't need more tests or assessments. He didn't need more medication or confinement. What he needed was someone who would take the time to understand him, someone who would help him confront the darkness inside him without fear, without judgment. He needed someone who would build a bridge back to the person he had once been, before the world had crushed him under the weight of his trauma.

And Quin knew that she was the one who could do it.

Her heart beat faster as she thought about it. She had spent so many months walking the thin line between caring for the patients at St. Lorrence and maintaining a safe distance, never letting herself get too involved. But Elias was different. Elias had reached out to her. He had trusted her when no one else had. He had opened up to her in ways that were both terrifying and deeply moving.

But she also knew how dangerous he could be. She had seen it firsthand-the violent outbursts, the way he could turn on a dime, the raw intensity of his emotions. She couldn't deny that Elias had the power to hurt people, to tear down everything she had worked for. The risk of getting close to him was enormous, and she couldn't ignore that.

But Quin also knew this: the more she pushed him away, the more she kept him at arm's length, the more he would spiral further into the darkness. He needed someone to help him see the light again. And no one else seemed willing to try.

Quin's fingers drummed restlessly on the table as she thought back to the times she had spent with Elias in his room, during those rare moments when he had allowed her inside his fragile world. The quiet conversations they had shared, the flickers of vulnerability in his eyes that he was so quick to hide. He had a hunger for connection, a need to be seen, to be heard. That was the key. That was the way in.

But where to start? How could she break through to him when he had spent so long behind walls of anger and fear?

Quin's mind began to race with possibilities. She thought back to the small gestures he had made-the way he had reached for her hand when she had been there for him during those moments of panic, how he had smiled just a little when she had offered him some comfort. It was always fleeting, always guarded, but it was there. A crack in the wall he had built around himself.

Her hand hovered over the pile of papers, and a strange idea began to take root. She had to find a way to make Elias feel safe again, to give him the sense that he wasn't alone in this world. That he wasn't just a monster or a lost cause. He was a human being, a person worthy of compassion and care. And maybe, just maybe, if she could get him to trust her completely, he might finally begin to heal.

Quin remembered a passage from one of her psychology textbooks-a study she had read about trauma recovery and the importance of establishing a safe, non-threatening environment for victims of abuse. It was a method used to help people like Elias, people who had experienced extreme trauma, to reconnect with their emotions and find ways to cope with their pain without lashing out.

It was called the "safe space method." The idea was simple: create an environment where the person felt in control, where they had the power to choose when to open up and when to shut down. The goal wasn't to push them too far too fast, but to slowly, carefully, earn their trust. It was about consistency, patience, and understanding. But it had to be done right.

Quin knew she could try this approach with Elias. It wouldn't be easy, and it wouldn't happen overnight. She had seen how closed off he was, how quick he was to retreat when things got too overwhelming. But she also knew how much he longed for connection, even if he didn't fully understand it himself.

She took a deep breath, pushing her doubts aside. The path wasn't clear, but it was a start. A fragile start.

Over the next few days, Quin focused all her energy on building the trust with Elias that the reports had hinted at. She would start small-just being there when he needed someone, not forcing him to talk, but offering him a safe space to express himself when he was ready. She would work with the staff to create a schedule where Elias would have some one-on-one time with her, in a quiet, non-threatening environment. No cameras. No constant supervision. Just the two of them, building a rapport.

She knew it was risky. It could backfire, and Elias could lash out in ways she couldn't predict. But if she wanted to help him, truly help him, she had to try. She had to believe that there was still something in him worth saving.

That night, she visited Elias's room. The dim lights flickered above, casting long shadows against the cold walls. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, his back to her as she entered. His posture was rigid, defensive, but she didn't let it deter her. She had to remain calm, patient.

"Elias," Quin said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Can I sit with you for a moment?"

He didn't respond at first, but when Quin didn't move away, when she didn't push, he finally turned his head slightly to acknowledge her presence. There was no anger in his eyes, just the same hollow uncertainty she had seen before. The brokenness. The vulnerability.

She took a seat across from him, careful not to invade his space. And for a moment, they just sat in silence, the quiet between them speaking louder than words ever could. Quin didn't know if she was getting through to him. She didn't know if anything she was doing would make a difference. But in that moment, she made a promise to herself.

She would help him. No matter the cost.

And Elias, for the first time in a long while, allowed himself to hope that maybe-just maybe-he wasn't beyond saving.