Five spotlights. Four of us: Alaric, Kraven, Elen, and me. I step into my circle, harsh white light stabbing my eyes. I squint, blinking away the burn, fighting not to look like I’m about to cry—or puke. The fifth spotlight stays empty, like the universe is mocking us. Then, slow and ragged, Lucius drags himself into the last beam.

  He looks destroyed. Glassy eyes, tears catching the light, shoulders hunched in defeat. “They’re not real,” he croaks, voice like sandpaper.

  All of us exchange a look—heavy, silent, no one willing to crack first. I step closer, keeping my tone steady. “We’re real, Lucius.”

  He blinks like it’s the only thing holding him together. “I’m not alone.”

  The darkness thickens, pulsing and writhing, churning itself into our worst nightmares. Faces I’d give anything to see for real, just out of reach. The offer is simple: step out of the light, save them. I know a trap when I see one.

  “Don’t. It’s a trick,” I snap, eyes darting between the phantoms. “Stay in the light. No matter what they say.”

  Each spotlight pins us like bugs. Outside, the illusions claw and scream.

  My breath catches—Lia, wrists bound, blood on her temple, so close I can almost smell her. The darkness whispers, sly and soft: “It’s just a step. You know you want to.”

  Every second I hold my ground, my skull throbs, vision blurring like the dark’s trying to claw in through my eyes. My hands shake, sweat slick and cold. The rope between me and Elen is the only thing that feels real.

  Elen squeezes the rope—a lifeline, and a warning. “Don’t,” she breathes. “That’s what it wants.”

  Lucius drops to his knees, shoulders shaking, lost in the light. Then his mother steps out of the dark—pale, haunted, reaching for him.

  “Lucius… please, come to me.” Her voice is a dying echo. “Step out. Save me.”

  Lucius doesn’t move. He shakes his head, voice rough but solid. “No. Not this time.”

  The phantom’s scream is pure agony, but Lucius stays put. The light holds.

  Next to crack is Alaric. The darkness works him hard—Sean, his little brother, dead years ago, steps forward, bloody and blue-lipped.

  “You left me,” Sean hisses, voice rusted and wet. “Come get me. Save me, Alaric.”

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  Alaric’s fists clench, nails drawing blood. His whole body trembles. Sean steps closer, each footfall a stain. “Just one step. You’ll fix it.”

  Alaric bolts. He runs for Sean, desperate to undo the past.

  The void eats him whole.

  Elen’s scream shatters the silence. “Alaric! Come back!”

  We’re frozen. The weight of it slams down—no words, just shock.

  The nightmares don’t fade. Not until the end of the ninety days, which could be a month or an eternity, time means nothing to the darkness. We freeze, the weight of what’s happened sinking like lead. The door will open—right behind the faces we’d kill to save.

  Elen’s brother appears—broken, bloodied. “Why did you leave me?” he spits.

  She shakes, tears streaking her cheeks, fighting to stay upright. “I tried. I tried to save you.”

  He laughs, sharp and cruel. “Not good enough. I’m dead. You killed me.”

  I see her pain and feel my own hit back—Lia, broken and bleeding, screaming my name.

  “Why haven’t you found me?” she shrieks. “You promised.”

  “I’m trying,” I choke out. “I’m doing everything—”

  “Are you?” the dark twists her face, showing new wounds. “How many scars will I bear before you reach me?”

  “It’s not real,” I bite out, gripping the rope, heart pounding like I could run from the truth.

  Around us, the others scream, curse, beg for mercy. The darkness eats hope.

  Kraven’s hands tremble—first time I’ve seen him crack. Isabel stands just outside the light, her eyes locked on his. A silent accusation only he can answer.

  His grip on the rope loosens, knot by knot.

  “Why?” Isabel’s voice is soft, a blade wrapped in silk.

  Kraven’s voice breaks. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  He’s been wrapped in that rope for over two months—our lifeline turned shackle—his fingers numb, trembling as he fumbles at the impossible knots. Every tug is a jolt of pain, his muscles screaming surrender.

  Elen and I scream ourselves hoarse. “Kraven! Don’t!”

  My voice cracks as I yank at the rope. “We’re here! Don’t do this!”

  His eyes dart between us, like he’s searching for an out he knows isn’t there. He bites down again, jaw set like he’s chewing glass, and for one brutal second, I almost hate him for being the next to go.

  “Sorry,” he whispers, the word splintering.

  The rope snaps.

  Kraven stands, mouth and hands bleeding, raw and empty.

  He steps out of the light.

  Gone.

  Silence slams down—thicker than any scream.

  Elen and I just look at each other. There’s nothing left to say.

  “Two gone,” Lucius mutters. “Alaric. Now Kraven.”

  Elen’s grip on the rope is iron. “The darkness wants us undone. This isn’t a trial. It’s a slow, surgical unraveling.”

  I nod, staring at the spot where Kraven vanished. The midnight stone at my throat pulses—a reminder of every loss.

  “We stay connected,” I say, voice steady. “No matter what comes. No matter what the darkness throws at us.”

  The rope is more than our anchor—it’s the last proof that we’re still ourselves, still real.

  Time loses meaning. Then, at last, the door opens, light flooding in.

  Lucius blinks. “Another trick?”

  I scan the void. “No illusions. I think this is real.”

  We find each other’s hands—Elen, Lucius, and me. Whatever comes next, we face it together.

  The light now is softer, like dawn after endless night. For one fragile second, I let myself hope.

  Lucius steps forward, slow and careful. “Stay close,” he mumbles.

  Elen weaves her fingers into mine. The rope hangs loose now, a symbol of what we’ve lost and what we’ve held onto.

  “Three of us,” I whisper. “Out of sixty-three.”

  Three left. Sixty gone. The rope hangs slack, but I’m not letting go—not yet.