"If everyone here only has a year... and you were here before Grace..." I step closer, locking eyes with him. "You should be dead by now."

  "So tell me..." I pause, letting the words hang. "Isn't that correct... or is this suddenly another one of your tests?"

  Chapter 8 - The Deceiver's Gambit

  White doesn’t react immediately. No shift in his expression, no tell in his posture. Just that same, infuriating calm. But something flickers beneath the surface—a crack in the ice.

  Then, he exhales. Slow. Controlled.

  “You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?,” he says at last, his voice measured.

  He leans forward, elbows resting on the table, fingers interlacing. His gaze sharpens, locking onto mine with quiet intensity.

  "You got one thing right—if Grace was next, I should be dead by now if I came before her. But that’s only if your assumptions were correct.” His tone remains even, but there’s an edge to it now, a quiet warning. “The truth is, I arrived three months after Grace did.”

  My thoughts screech to a halt.

  That… doesn’t make any sense.

  I search his face, looking for some kind of tell, but he doesn’t flinch. He just keeps going, unbothered.

  “I came before you. And after Grace.” His voice remains cold, clinical. “Yes, I know more than you or anyone else here. And no, I’m not going to explain everything.”

  His expression hardens. “Because knowing won’t help you save Grace.”

  His words cut deep, but my mind is still tangled in contradictions. If Grace was telling the truth, then White is lying. But why lie about something so easy to disprove? And if he’s telling the truth, then what does that make Grace?

  Nothing fits. This place is a mess. Twisted.

  Atrocious.

  I study him, searching for cracks in his armor, for anything that might betray what he’s really thinking. But White is impossible to read. Whatever he’s hiding, he’s good at it.

  I don’t trust him. He doesn’t trust me. And the fact that he looks like me only makes it worse.

  But right now, I'm in this blind. I don’t even know which side I’m supposed to be on. There’s no point in wasting time going in circles.

  I exhale, forcing my shoulders to loosen. “Alright then.” My voice is steady. “Let’s cut the bullshit. How do I save Grace?”

  Something flickers in White’s eyes, and for the first time, a ghost of a smirk appears.

  “You?” His voice is almost amused. “You can’t save Grace.”

  The words land like a gut punch.

  “You don’t know this place. You don’t understand how it works. Hell, you don’t even know why you’re here.” He leans in slightly, his presence pressing down on me like a weight. “Your arrival has only made things worse. Grace’s chances of survival dropped because of you.”

  The air between us is taut, stretched too thin.

  “But I can save her,” he continues. “And if I choose to, I’ll let you help.”

  I clench my fists under the table, nails digging into my palms. So he won’t answer my questions unless I play along—be his pawn. His dog on a leash.

  But does he even know how to save her?

  Lenny said no one understands this place. Not even what it is. So how could White already have a way to save someone?

  It doesn’t add up.

  I keep my voice level. “So tell me something, then.” I meet his gaze, unflinching. “In a place where no one knows anything, why should I believe you do?”

  White doesn’t blink. “I don’t,” he admits. “Not completely.”

  That catches me off guard.

  “But I’ve been here longer. I’ve seen how this place works—how things happen.” His voice drops slightly. “And I believe I’ve found something I can use to save Grace. Whether you trust me or not doesn’t matter.” His eyes darken. “I’m moving forward with it. With or without your help.”

  His fingers tighten into fists.

  “But then you arrived.” His voice turns sharp. “And because of you—there’s a crack in the sky.”

  A shadow flickers across his face. His jaw tenses, his grip tightening.

  “Everything was going perfectly,” he says, quieter now. “Then you showed up and messed it all up. I had a plan.” His breath is slow, controlled. “But now… I’m not sure anymore.”

  I don’t let up.

  “You keep acting like you’ve got it all figured out. Like this place follows a rule.” My voice is steady, but I don’t miss the way his fingers twitch—just slightly. “But if that were true, you’d know exactly why the crack appeared early. You’d have an answer.”

  The twitch again.

  “You don’t know, do you?” I press. “You act like I ruined the balance, but the truth is, it broke before you even understood why.”

  His lips part slightly, but no words come.

  Just a pause....just long enough to tell me I’m right.

  That’s it. The weak point.

  I lean in. “You blame me because you need it to be my fault. You need something to make sense. Because if it isn’t me…” I let the words settle. “Then what the hell is happening?”

  Silence stretches between us.

  Too long.

  And I know, he doesn’t have an answer.

  Then, finally, he speaks.

  “Does it matter what I know?” His voice is quiet, cold. “Does that change the fact that because of your arrival, something here changed? That my plan might not work now? And because of that—” his breath is sharp “—Grace dies?”

  The words hit harder than they should.

  "And whose fault would that be?"

  A sudden weight presses against my chest, ice-cold and suffocating.

  What if he’s right?

  Everyone here dies eventually. But Grace’s time wasn’t supposed to be now. Not yet.

  Her face flashes in my mind—her smile, her warmth.

  She might disappear.

  How much time does she have?

  Then my breath catches.

  The body.

  The day I arrived.

  Twisted, unrecognizable—like it had been through hell.

  That’s what will happen to Grace.

  My hands curl into fists, pressing hard against my lap. Heat builds under my collar, sweat breaking along my back. My pulse pounds in my ears, deafening. The thought of Grace going through that—

  I can’t even think it.

  Then....

  “It won’t happen.”

  White’s voice cuts through the panic, pulling me back.

  I look up, and for the first time, something has changed in his expression.

  “It won’t happen,” he repeats. “I will save Grace.” His voice is firm, certain. “But you need to trust me. Because we don’t have time for a better plan. And trust me—there is none.”

  He leans forward, his gaze locking onto mine.

  “These are your choices.” His voice is quieter now, but heavy. “Either go with what I’ve put together blindly, or forget about Grace.”

  His words settle between us like a weight.

  And I realize.... I don’t have a choice at all.

  I lean forward on the table.. "Alright.. So what's your plan? "

  “Not now,” White says.

  I don’t even think before I push back my chair and stand. “No. Enough games.” My voice is sharp, cutting. “You don’t get to dangle Grace’s life in front of me and expect me to just play along blindly.”

  White doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just watches.

  “You’re asking me to trust you,” I continue. “Fine. Then prove I should. What’s the plan?”

  Nothing. No reaction.

  My pulse hammers. “You keep acting like you have all the answers, but you don’t, do you?” I lean forward, gripping the table. “You said you had a plan, but if you actually did, you’d tell me. Instead, you’re stalling. Why?”

  White exhales through his mouth. “Because if I tell you now,” he says evenly, “you’ll ruin it.”

  I almost laugh. “That’s it? That’s your excuse?”

  “It’s not an excuse.”

  “Then what is it?” My voice is rising. “Some grand test? Do I have to prove I’m ‘worthy’ to hear it? Or maybe” my fingers dig into the table “you don’t actually have a plan at all.”

  A flicker of something in his expression. Gone too fast to catch.

  I keep pushing. “Maybe you’re just making it up as you go.”

  White finally moves. Slowly. He leans back, studying me like he’s trying to decide something.

  Then..

  “You think you can handle the truth?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  He tilts his head slightly. “You think if I lay everything out right now, you’ll stay calm? Follow orders? Do exactly as I say?”

  “If it saves Grace...”

  “No.” The word is sharp, cutting through my sentence like a knife. “You won’t.”

  I freeze.

  “You don’t trust me,” he continues. “That’s why you keep asking. And that’s exactly why I can’t tell you yet.”

  My jaw tightens. “That’s a weak excuse.”

  He exhales slowly. “You think so? Then answer this..if I told you the plan right now, what would you do?”

  “I’d follow it.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.” His voice is maddeningly calm. “You’d dissect it. Tear it apart. Look for flaws. And if you found something you didn’t like, something that felt wrong, you’d resist. Because you don’t trust me. Because you don’t trust this place.”

  My hands curl into fists. “If you’d just tell me, maybe I could trust you.”

  White shakes his head. “It doesn’t work like that.”

  I hate this. I hate how easily he picks apart my thoughts like he’s reading them off a script.

  “So what, then?” I grit out. “You expect me to just sit here and wait?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what if I say no?”

  White’s gaze sharpens. “Then Grace dies.”

  The words hit like a gunshot to the chest.

  He doesn’t give me time to recover.

  “I know you want answers,” he says, voice softer now, but no less firm. “I know this place is eating you alive. But if you want to save Grace, you’re going to have to do something you hate.” His eyes lock onto mine. “You’re going to have to wait.”

  The room feels too small....

  Every instinct in me screams to keep fighting... to demand more, to force him to tell me everything.

  But what if he’s right?...

  What if knowing now only makes things worse?

  I force myself to sit back down. My pulse still pounds, my hands still clench, but I sit. I hate it. I hate it. But I sit.

  I don’t say anything.

  White studies me for a moment longer, then nods.

  “Good.”

  He’s playing me like a pawn. Moving me exactly where he wants. But if it means saving Grace… then it’s worth it.

  Worth everything.

  This place keeps twisting me into something helpless, something clueless. I’ve never felt this powerless before.

  And I’ve had enough of it.

  There’s nothing more for me here.

  I push back my chair and stand. My gaze locks onto his, a silent warning—if you mess this up, I will make you regret it.

  I don’t say it.

  I don’t have to.

  White meets my stare but says nothing.

  I turn, walking toward the door, my thoughts storming in my head. I don’t trust him. He keeps me in the dark. In a place where we’re all trapped like sheep, he plays the wolf.

  As I reach for the handle, a feeling creeps over me.

  A weight on my back.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Like he’s watching me, grinning... satisfied that I’ve fallen into his trap, that I’m nothing more than a piece on his board.

  Slowly, I turn.

  White is still in his chair, his expression unchanged. Still unreadable. Still just watching me.

  I place my hand on the door. The wood is cool beneath my palm. I push it open, and...

  A wave of fresh air rushes past me. Cold. Normal. Unscented.

  It stops me for a second. A strange contrast to the suffocating weight pressing against my chest.

  I don’t look back.

  I step out, letting the door close behind me.

  It’s dark.

  How long was I in there?

  I stand still for a moment, letting the night settle around me.

  Maybe, just maybe, Grace is worried about me. Maybe she misses me.

  I can almost hear her voice, feel her warmth, see her smile.

  I have to save her. No matter what.

  I look ahead.

  Two paths.

  One leads to where Grace walked off earlier this evening. The other, to Dr. Lenny’s clinic.

  I go over it again, carefully.

  White said he came here after Grace.

  But Grace said he was already here.

  A direct contradiction.

  One of them is lying.

  Or… they both think they’re telling the truth.

  Grace isn’t the type to manipulate—but that doesn’t mean she’s right. Memories can be flawed. People see what they expect to see. And if White has been playing this game longer than me, who’s to say he hasn’t already planted ideas in her head? Or maybe, just maybe, these memories are from her past life... before coming here.

  White, on the other hand, chooses his words carefully. If he were lying, I’d expect him to cover his tracks better. A contradiction like this—it’s too easy to catch.

  Which means the real question isn’t who’s lying.

  It’s why do their stories conflict in the first place?

  Then, it hits me.

  If Grace is right... if White was already here before her... then White should be dead.

  Because Grace is next.

  I freeze.

  White isn’t dead. He’s right in front of me. Talking, scheming, existing.

  So either this place is broken....

  Or White isn’t part of it.

  A chill runs through me. The air feels heavier, the walls pressing in. What the hell is he? What does he know that we don’t?

  I exhale slowly. Grace believes what she saw. But belief and truth aren’t the same thing. If I ask her, she’ll double down, convinced she’s right.

  But Lenny...

  Lenny has been here longer. He observes. And unlike White, he has no reason to manipulate me.

  That leaves me only one option.

  I head toward the clinic.

  As I get closer, I see the warm light inside the clinic flicker—then fade.

  He’s leaving.

  I break into a run, the cold air biting at my skin. Just as I reach the steps, the doors creak open.

  Dr. Lenny steps out, pausing in the doorway. His brows knit together.

  “What’s wrong? Is someone hurt?” His voice is sharp, urgent.

  I can see why he’d jump to that conclusion. I must look like hell.

  I shake my head quickly. “No, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I just need to ask you something.”

  His shoulders relax, and his eyes soften. “Oh.” He exhales. “Alright then. We can talk while we walk. I was heading to the longhouse for dinner. You hungry?”

  I hesitate. Food is the last thing on my mind. But walking gives me time. A chance to think.

  “Yeah. That works.”

  Lenny locks the clinic doors and steps down, motioning for me to follow. “This way.”

  For a few moments, we walk in silence. I watch my feet, my thoughts tangled. How do I even start? I can’t give away Grace. Or White.

  “Kid, you alright?” Lenny’s voice cuts through the quiet as he comes to a stop.

  I take a breath and meet his gaze. “How long does Grace have?” My voice is steady, but the weight behind it is unbearable. “How much more time?”

  Lenny’s expression shifts, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by something heavier. A deep sigh escapes him.

  “She’s next.”

  The words hit harder than I expected.

  I knew it. White said the same thing. But hearing it from Lenny... someone I trust.... makes it real.

  My chest tightens, my hands balling into fists. “Then why?” My voice cracks. “Why is she like that?” I shake my head, pain bleeding into my words. “How can someone with so little time waste it on me?”

  Lenny places a hand on my shoulder. “That’s just the kind of person Grace is,” he says quietly. “She does everything she can to keep people happy in this wrecked place. Most people, when they find out they’re going to die, lose all hope. They stop living long before they’re gone.” He pauses. “But not Grace. She found purpose in helping others.”

  His words only make it worse.

  I swallow hard. “She can’t die.” My voice is barely above a whisper.

  Lenny exhales. “I know.”

  That’s all he says. Because what else can he say? No words can fill the void she’ll leave behind.

  I steady myself and ask, “What about White? How much time does he have?”

  Lenny hesitates. His hand slips away as he scratches his chin in thought.

  “If I’m correct,” he says slowly, “he’s got about three months left.”

  And that’s it. That’s the confirmation I needed.

  White came after Grace.

  But then—how?

  Grace swore he was already here when she arrived. She told me how much she hated his silence, how much she resented the way he never spoke when she needed him.

  So it doesn’t match.

  Unless…

  My breath catches.

  Unless she’s remembering something that never happened.

  Or something that happened before.

  A cold shiver runs through me.

  That’s impossible. Isn’t it?

  I can’t ask Grace. Not now. She’s already going through too much. I need answers elsewhere.

  We start walking again, the night stretching out around us. The air feels heavier now, pressing against me.

  Then, another thought strikes me. I glance at Lenny. “How was Grace when she arrived?”

  But before he can answer, I curse myself. Lenny wouldn’t know... he got here six months after her.

  Still, he responds. “As long as I’ve known her, she’s always been this way,” he says. “Cheerful. Selfless.” A small chuckle escapes him. “Even though she annoys the hell out of me sometimes.”

  His smile fades slightly. “She’s the reason I opened the clinic.”

  I blink. “What?”

  “When I first got here, I was broken. Just another body, waiting for my time to run out.” He shakes his head. “But she didn’t let me disappear. She made me believe I had a purpose... that I had a duty to help the people here.” His voice is quiet now. “Without her, I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you. I’d just be… empty.”

  A body without a soul.

  The weight of his words settles deep inside me.

  I clench my fists.

  I can’t let her disappear.

  But where do I start? What do I do?

  White says he can save her, but can I trust him?

  If only there was someone I could talk to. Someone who came before Grace. Someone who had seen the cycle unfold. But I can’t. They’re all dead.

  The last person who would have known… was the body left behind.

  A chill runs through me.

  Something about this feels crucial. I need to know the order of who came here.

  I turn to Lenny. “Dr. Lenny, can you do me a favor?”

  He raises a brow. “What is it?”

  “Can you help me make a list of everyone here and the order they arrived?” I hesitate, watching his expression. “Would you be able to do that?”

  Lenny studies me for a moment, his gaze unreadable. Then, he nods. “Sure. Stop by the clinic anytime, and we’ll put it together.”

  Before I can respond, he looks ahead. “And we’re here.”

  I follow his gaze.

  The longhouse.

  Its warm lights spill out from the windows, flickering against the darkness. The scent of food drifts through the cracks, carrying something almost comforting, almost normal.

  But nothing about this place is normal.

  I step inside. The air is thick with quiet murmurs, the low scrape of spoons against bowls. Four people are already at the tables, eating in silence.

  “People sleep early here,” Lenny murmurs beside me. “Not much else to do.”

  I nod absently, my eyes scanning the room. And then

  I see her.

  Grace.

  A familiar figure, moving between the tables, serving food with that same unwavering smile. The same warmth in her eyes. Like nothing is wrong.

  Like she isn’t next.

  A strange weight lifts from my chest.

  A smile tugs at my lips before I even realize it.

  Lenny’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Alright then. Let’s eat.” He steps forward.

  It’s set up like a buffet. He picks up a plate—dark red clay, simple but beautiful.

  And just ahead, Grace turns.

  She hasn’t seen me yet.

  Dr. Lenny steps forward, his voice warm. “Good evening, Grace.”

  She looks up, her eyes landing on us both. Something changes. A glow spreads across her face, like she has just been given an unexpected gift.

  “Dr. Lenny. And Black.” She draws out my name with a teasing lilt. “You have been gone a while. I was starting to think you got lost. Hehe.”

  She places a slice of bread on Lenny’s tray, and he moves on to the next station where the cook ladles soup into his bowl.

  I step forward, standing in front of her.

  “Hey there,” I say, searching her face. “How are you now?”

  The last time I saw her, she had been devastated, shaken by the sight of that red crack in the sky.

  Now, she meets my gaze, steady and unwavering.

  “I am good.”

  Her smile is so beautiful that, for a moment everything around me just disappears.

  I just sink into her eyes, lost in their warmth.

  Then she tilts her head. “You like bread?”

  It is an odd question, considering there is nothing else to choose from.

  I nod.

  Her smile widens. She leans in, close enough that I feel the heat of her breath near my ear.

  “No bread for you. I have something special.”

  She turns her head slightly, catching the cook’s eye. He nods back in silent agreement.

  "Alright then, let's goo"

  I blink. “Where?”

  But she is already grabbing my wrist, tugging me along.

  I do not resist. I just follow, my confusion deepening as she leads me inside.

  The kitchen.

  She stops abruptly, throwing her arms up.

  “Tadaa.”

  I stare, unsure how to react.

  She grins, then pulls me toward a table. The wooden legs of a chair screech against the floor as she drags it out. Only when she gestures toward it do I realize.

  It is for me.

  I hesitate, then sit.

  A bowl sits in front of me, hidden beneath a large bowl. The anticipation in her eyes tells me this is the surprise.

  “You ready?” she asks, practically bouncing on her heels.

  I nod.

  With a flourish, she lifts the bowl.

  A wave of aroma crashes over me.

  Rich. Savory. Warm in a way I forgot food could be.

  I close my eyes, inhaling. Letting the scent wrap around me. It is deep, full of something I cannot place.

  When I open my eyes, I see it.

  Noodles.

  Thick, long strands bathed in a glistening broth. Vegetables nestled between them, vibrant and fresh. A boiled egg, cut in half with precision, its yolk golden and soft. Coriander sprinkled over the top, perfect and delicate.

  I glance at her.

  She is watching me, hands clasped together, waiting. No, hoping to see my reaction.

  She made this for me.

  The thought settles in my chest, deep and unshakable.

  Out there, all they serve is bread and soup. This means she went through trouble. She worked for this. Just to make me feel better.

  She is beautiful.

  But now I see something more.

  Something pure.

  There is no obligation in this. No expectation. Just kindness.

  Just Grace.

  I look down, and suddenly, the weight of everything crashes onto me.

  This place is cruel.

  It traps us. Kills us one by one. It does not care.

  But losing her. Losing her feels like the cruelest thing of all.

  More than being trapped. More than the deaths. She is the part that hurts the most.

  My throat tightens.

  “Is everything okay?” she asks, her voice softer now, tinged with concern. “You do not like noodles?”

  I lift my gaze, finding her fingers curled nervously.

  And then I bow my head toward her, just slightly.

  “Thank you.”

  My voice is quiet, but I mean it.

  “For this. For all of this. It means a lot to me.”

  I had to say it. I had to let her know.

  Because I do not know how much time she has left.

  She blinks, startled, then places a gentle hand on my shoulder.

  “Hey. It is okay.”

  She presses lightly, urging me to straighten up. When I do, she is smiling again.

  “I am just glad it means something to you,” she says. “That makes me happy.”

  Then, with a little laugh, she adds,

  “Besides, noodles are my specialty. So this was no problem at all.”

  But I know better.

  Nothing about this was just noodles.

  It was her way of giving me warmth in a place that only grows colder.

  And I do not know if I will ever be able to repay that.

  I pick up the chopsticks beside the bowl.

  Living alone, I have had my fair share of instant noodles. I could probably eat them in my sleep. But as I stir these, the aroma that rises is something else entirely.

  Rich. Deep. Almost intoxicating.

  I glance at Grace, my stomach tightening with anticipation. She made this?

  Lifting the first bite to my mouth, I slurp the noodles and

  God.

  The flavor spreads over my tongue, so different from the instant stuff I am used to. Every bite carries something new. Something warm. Something familiar, yet unlike anything I have ever had before.

  I glance up.

  Grace is watching me. It is embarrassing.

  "Aren't you going to eat?" I ask.

  She smiles, resting her chin on her hand. "I already ate. I was the first to get a bowl."

  "Oh." I want to say more, but nothing comes to mind. I use the noodles as an excuse and put myself back in.

  I slurp another bite, completely lost in it.

  When was the last time I enjoyed food this much?

  When was the last time I enjoyed anything this much?

  Before I know it, the bowl is empty. I lean back, full, satisfied, only to realize she has been watching me this whole time.

  A little embarrassing.

  "Wow," she teases. "You finished that so quickly. Are you full?"

  I nod.

  "Was it good?"

  I meet her eyes, warmth spreading in my chest. I could get used to this.

  She snaps her fingers. "Hey, you there?"

  "Oh, yeah." I shake off the haze. "The noodles were amazing. I can't believe you made them. I have never had anything this good before."

  She waves a hand dismissively. "Come on, it is not that good. I just used whatever I could find here."

  I stare at her. If this is whatever she could find, what is she really capable of?

  "Well," I say, "I really enjoyed it. For the first time, this place does not seem so bad anymore."

  But the moment the words leave my mouth, her smile falters. It fades slowly, like a candle flickering out.

  She looks down. "...Yeah."

  Then she stands up.

  Guilt knots in my stomach. I should not have said that.

  I reach for my bowl, wanting to help clean up, but before I can do anything, Grace snatches it from my hands.

  "Hey, what are you doing?" she huffs.

  "I just wanted to help."

  "No." She shakes her head. "I will do it. Besides, you would take forever, and we need to go see your new house, remember?"

  Oh. Right.

  She quickly washes the bowl, then turns back to me, her energy returning in full force.

  "Alright then. Let's go."

  Before I can react, she grabs my hand again and drags me along.

  Outside, the night air is cool, the world wrapped in quiet. Across from us, Grace's house glows warmly against the dark.

  As we walk, she gestures ahead. "Your house is right next to mine. Well, just a little farther."

  I follow her gaze. It is smaller, shorter than the Long House. But compared to Grace's place, it looks abandoned.

  Unlike hers, unlike the doctor's, unlike White's, this place has no warmth. Just a hollow, empty shell.

  She nudges me gently. "Do not be so grim. We can make it better. A few flowers here and there, and it will be nice."

  I try to smile. "You think so?"

  "I know so," she grins.

  We reach the door. She pushes it open easily. No lock.

  "Wait here," she says, stepping inside.

  Darkness swallows her whole.

  A strange fear grips me. What if she does not come back?

  I take a step forward, fingers twitching.

  Then light.

  A small, warm glow flickers inside. Then another. The golden light spills into the doorway, cutting through the shadows. And standing there, illuminated by the lamps, is Grace.

  Her eyes meet mine, shining in the soft glow.

  I exhale.

  She moves closer, brushing past me to light another lamp near my head. "Okay, there should be one more..."

  The second flame bursts to life, bigger and brighter.

  Suddenly, the whole room is visible.

  The space is bare. A single bed sits in the corner, the mattress worn but usable. No chairs, no table, just a lone shelf for belongings.

  Grace turns to me, watching my expression. "Well, it is not that tidy, but I kinda cleaned it up last night while you were sleeping in my room. So you should be fine."

  I glance at her. She did all that for me?

  She sits on the bed and pats the spot beside her. Hesitating only a moment, I sit next to her, close enough that our shoulders almost brush.

  "We will make it better tomorrow, okay?" she says, tilting her head. "Okay?"

  I nod, but my mind is elsewhere.

  She studies me, then, without warning, reaches out and brushes the back of her hand against my forehead.

  I blink. "What are you... "

  "You keep zoning out." Her brows knit together. "You do not have a fever. Are you hurting anywhere?"

  "I am fine," I murmur. "It is just... everything here. It is hard to believe I am trapped now."

  She watches me carefully, then softly asks,

  "Are you scared?"

  My breath catches.

  Am I scared?

  Of course I am.

  I am scared of this place. Of what it does to people.

  But more than anything, I am scared of losing her.

  She does not wait for my answer. Instead, she says something I do not expect.

  "It is okay to be scared."

  Her voice is gentle and steady. "I understand. But that does not mean we stop living. If we do that, we let this place win."

  Something about the way she says it makes my chest tighten.

  She is afraid too.

  But she refuses to let fear take her.

  I look at her. The way the soft lamplight catches in her hair. The way her lips curve just slightly in quiet reassurance.

  And for the first time since arriving here, I wonder if maybe, just maybe,

  I do not have to let it take me either.

  Grace stretches her arms and lets out a small yawn. "Alright, you should get some rest now. If you need anything, I am just next door, okay?"

  I nod. "You take care too. Sleep well."

  She gives me a soft smile, then walks to the door. She glances at me for a moment before stepping outside and closing the door behind her.

  Silence fills the room.

  I glance at the lantern. Inside, the candle flickers, its wax melting slowly. The small flame dances, casting shifting shadows against the walls.

  I stare into it.

  And suddenly....

  The fire.

  The fire from the night I arrived.

  The smoke, thick and suffocating. The glow of embers. And beside the flames..

  The body.

  Twisted. Hollow. Emptied.

  Limbs bent at unnatural angles. Bones shattered, organs missing. The face... barely recognizable. A husk of what was once human.

  A sharp pain lances through my skull.

  His body. His remains.

  And now… I am here. In this house.

  Was it his? Did he live here before me?

  I know nothing about him. I do not even know if it was a him. And yet, the unease settles deep in my bones, threading through me like something I was never supposed to remember.

  Everything is a mess. I try to trace my day back. Everything happened so fast. This is not how it is supposed to feel. When you are trapped, when you are panicking, it should not move this fast. But it did. One event pulling me into another, clearing my thoughts before I could even process them.

  And now, finally, I feel alone.

  I still cannot believe this is real.

  I am… I am just worried. Worried that I will turn hopeless like everyone else here. That I will quit too. I can see that happening if Grace disappears. Even though it has only been a day, I feel so connected to her.

  Grace believes White came before her. Does that mean she believes White is next to die?

  My head throbs. I lay back, my body sinking into the mattress, heavy. Like I am being pulled under.

  I let go.

  I close my eyes.

  Disappearing would not be so bad right now. I sink deeper... and deeper...

  Until everything is dark.

  Silent.

  Still.

  And then...

  My bed disappears.

  The room is gone.

  The lights vanish.

  What…

  Where am I?

  I look around, but there is nothing. Not even myself.

  Panic rises with every breath I take.

  Just an endless void.

  Then...

  I see something.

  A light.

  Bright. Flickering in the distance.

  I chase it.

  Faster.

  Faster.

  And—BANG!

  I crash into something hard, the impact rattling through my skull. Pain flares, sharp and disorienting. I clutch my head, trying to steady myself.

  What did I hit?

  I open my eyes.

  Everything blurs for a second.

  Then I see it.

  A window.

  Wait…

  I know this window.

  The shape. The angle. The way the glass reflects the light.

  I step closer, breath catching in my throat.

  Inside...

  A figure.

  Lying on a bed.

  I freeze.

  That is… me.

  I stare in disbelief. It is my room. My bed. My desk. Everything exactly as I left it.

  But I am outside.

  And the person inside... he does not see me.

  He shifts slightly in his sleep, the dim glow of a bedside clock revealing the date beside him.

  May 31.

  A cold shiver crawls up my spine.

  This is it.

  The day I disappeared.

  The moment I was pulled into this world.

  I lunge for the window, trying to force it open. I have to save him.

  But my body will not move.

  I try to shout, to warn him. Do not fall asleep.

  Nothing comes out.

  My limbs do not respond. My voice is gone.

  Inside, he exhales softly, sinking deeper into sleep.

  No.

  No, no, no...

  I push with everything I have, but I cannot break through.

  And then...

  A sudden jerk.

  The world rips apart.

  Everything vanishes.

  Darkness.

  Silence.

  I am floating again, lost in the void.

  Then...

  A scream....

  I whirl around.

  It is me.

  Floating. Distant. Trapped in the abyss.

  I chase after him.

  He drifts further away, weightless in the void.

  I have to stop him. I have to save him.

  I reach out, my arms stretching unnaturally long. Dark. Shadowed.

  I do not care.

  I grab him.

  "Listen to me!" I scream.

  But he does not hear.

  He struggles, pushing against me, trying to tear himself away.

  But I will not let go.

  I cannot.

  He thrashes harder, body trembling.

  Then...

  A sharp snap.

  His form rips apart.

  Blood. Everywhere.

  Pain.. searing, unbearable... Tears through me.

  I choke, the sensation overwhelming.

  And suddenly...

  I wake up.