Inside the kitchen, the atmosphere felt... staged.
Just like before.
Spes stood at the same exact spot — facing the open window, his back turned to her. Motionless. Like a statue waiting for its cue.
The faint sound of wind slipping through the cracked window filled the silence, and Harper looked around the room with mild unease. It was just a kitchen — nothing eerie, nothing overtly sinister.
And yet…
She felt it. The tension that Alice and Ivy must've felt too.
The eerie quiet. The sense that something was off, even though everything looked painfully normal.
She leaned against the counter, arms folded.
"Are we just gonna stand here forever?"
Her voice cut through the silence like a knife — sarcastic, biting, but mostly just tired of the act.
Without a second of delay, as if triggered by her words, Spes finally moved.
He turned around — slowly, precisely — until he was facing her, like a loop playing for the third time.
And then, without emotion, without hesitation, without even adjusting a single word, he spoke:
"I give you an offer."
"I'll let you escape from this Phase, and return to the one you came from. This will complete Phase Twenty for you."
A pause.
"However..."
"The others will be left behind."
"They'll face the Hunt without our help. No guidance. No protection. No hope."
"There is no catch."
"If you accept the offer, you'll leave cleanly. No guilt. No debt. No lingering connections to this place."
"You'll be free."
The words fell into the air — identical to the ones Harper's teammates had heard before her.
Exactly the same.
Scripted.
Harper blinked slowly, watching him as she felt a subtle chill crawl down her spine.
She looked away from Spes.
Her eyes wandered — scanning the tiled floor, the grainy wooden cabinets, the small details that didn't matter. Anything to avoid looking at him. Anything to avoid facing the weight of the offer he'd laid down.
Her throat felt dry.
The silence wasn't just heavy — it was accusing.
Then, slowly, she glanced at the door behind her.
That door.
The one she'd walked through just minutes ago.
Behind it — Ivy, Alice… Nathan.
Waiting. Watching. Maybe wondering if they'll ever see her again.
And suddenly, something visceral sank in.
The offer felt wrong. So wrong. Like a choice only a monster would take. Like the kind of choice that makes people in movies scream at the screen — "Don't do it, you coward!"
The kind of choice villains make.
And Harper… she wasn't a villain.
Right?
Her first instinct was to scream no. To tell Spes to screw off. To throw the damn window shut and spit in his face.
Of course she wouldn't abandon her team.
Of course she wouldn't be that person.
She opened her mouth.
But—
Nothing came out.
Because something hit her.
Something small. Something quiet.
A memory.
It washed over her like warm light. Faint at first, then vivid.
Her mother's soft laughter
.The smell of home — cinnamon toast, laundry detergent, her sister's stupid perfume.
The way the sun filtered through the curtains on lazy afternoons.
The feeling of being held. Safe. Loved.
Her eyes welled up — just slightly — but she blinked it away fast, like a reflex. No cracks. Not now.
In her mind, a question rose — soft, and terrifying:
"Is all of this effort… really worth it?"
Is this pain, this fear, this endless spiral of trauma and survival — is it worth it?
Would they really blame her?
Would they even know?
She could be home.
Back in her bed.
Beside her mom.
Laughing with her sister.
Eating cereal and watching reruns and pretending this nightmare was just a dream she woke up from.
She could escape.
No guilt.
No memory.
No ties.
And then her heart whispered something back — shaky, quiet, but still there:
"But they would know…"
"You would know."
Even if the others never found out. Even if she could pretend forever…
She would always know what she did.
And the worst part?
She wasn't sure if that would break her — or if she could live with it.
And so she stood there, quiet.
Breathing.
Wrestling.
Facing the most important choice of her life ——while an emotionless entity stared at her, waiting, as if this were just another scene to repeat.
Just another human to test.
Just another predictable outcome.
"If I choose to abandon them… I'll go back to the phase I came from. Right?"
Harper's voice was low — steady, but uncertain. The kind of voice that came from someone standing at the edge of a cliff, daring themselves to look down.
Spes didn't even blink.
He nodded.
Just once.
Mechanical. Emotionless. Cold.
He was nothing more than a reflection of a system. A hollow shell pretending to be a person. And in his silence, Harper saw the truth that no one had really spoken aloud — these things weren't real. They didn't care. They were just part of the machine.
And she?
She was still trying to stay human.
She clenched her jaw.
A safe way out.
No guilt. No consequences.
Just go back. Go home. Be done.
It sounded beautiful.
But something inside her cracked at the thought.
She imagined Ivy's eyes narrowing as she realized Harper wasn't coming.
She imagined Alice, standing tall outside, waiting.
She imagined Nathan — alone — maybe confused, maybe betrayed.
And then she thought:
"If I wanted to stay in Phase 11 and just be safe… why did I come here at all?"
"Why did I agree to keep going?"
"Why did I decide to fight, if I was just going to run?"
There was no good in leaving them behind.
There was no victory in survival without meaning.
She wiped her face slowly with her palm — not tears exactly, but the weight of tension pressing out through her skin. Her hand moved to tuck a messy strand of hair behind her ear, steadying herself.
"I wouldn't survive alone," she said, eyes still fixed on the floor.
And then, lifting her gaze to Spes, finally looking him directly in those hollow, fake eyes:
"I need my friends."
She let those words hang in the air — defiant and real, cutting through the sterile atmosphere like a crack of thunder.
And then — slowly, deliberately — she bowed.
Not to Spes as a person. Not out of submission.
But out of respect for the ritual.
"I decline your offer."
Her voice didn't waver.
She rose from her bow — no longer unsure.
Because even in a system built to mimic emotion, to manipulate instinct, and exploit fear —— Harper had done something it could never understand.
She chose them.
And so, Spes — already knowing the outcome, already coded with this response — simply nodded.
He stepped aside and pointed toward the window.
That same window.
The one everyone had gone through.
Harper looked at it.
Then back at him.
"So I just… jump out?"
Spes didn't blink.
He nodded once.
"And Nathan will do the same after me?"
Another nod. Wordless. Predictable.
"Alright then..."
"Thank you, I guess."
She muttered, her voice dry — not sure what else to say to something that wasn't truly alive.
She stepped toward the open window, placed her hands on the frame, and pulled herself through.
Her feet touched the cold earth.
Outside, the air was crisper.
The weight she'd been carrying felt lighter now — not gone, but manageable.
And there, leaned casually against the wooden wall of the cottage, were Alice and Ivy.
Alice had her arms crossed, a relaxed look in her eyes.
Ivy glanced over as Harper landed, a half-smile playing on her lips.
"You made it," Ivy said.
"Damn right I did." Harper dusted off her pants, standing up straight.
Alice pushed off the wall and walked toward her.
"You declined it too?" she asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.
Harper nodded.
"Of course I did. What do you take me for, huh?"
Ivy smirked.
"We were listening, genius."
Harper blinked.
"Wait—what?"
Alice chuckled, brushing her blonde hair back as the breeze tugged at it.
"Spes made each of us wait by the window while the next one went in. We heard everything."
Harper's eyes widened.
"So… you heard me almost cry like a pathetic little kid?"
Ivy raised an eyebrow.
"We heard you being human. That's what matters."
Harper paused, then nodded slowly.
"Well shit. Guess that means Nathan's next."
The three of them turned toward the window.
They waited.