In the mirror, I was crying. But when I looked up again, my eyes had returned to normal—and now, the reflection mimicked my every move. Echoes rang in my ears: *"You did this. Our blood is on your hands."*
The voices wrapped around my throat. I turned, desperate to escape the mirror's grip—and found myself on the highest staircase.
Below, I saw him. A man who looked just like my Dad *James*. And behind him, the students—the ones who died protecting me.
Their eyes were hollow, but tears streamed down their faces. Fingers pointed at me.
"If it weren't for you, I'd still be with my wife... and my son!" His face burned with rage.
I shook my head, hands clamped over my mouth, trying to hold back the flood.
"I died the day my son returned after six years," said the man who looked like Dad. "Only to be slaughtered in front of him." His voice cracked. Tears spilled. And the hate in his eyes was unmistakable.
One of the students—someone I'd seen often in Mistwoods—stepped forward.
"If there had to be a sacrifice, it should've been you. What did we die for?"
They moved closer, slow and relentless, all chanting the same thing:
"You are the reason we all died."
Their voices pounded in my skull. I covered my ears and spun around—only to find them in front of me. No matter where I turned, they were there. Closing in. Everywhere.
I couldn't do anything—I screamed, raw with agony. My cries tore toward the sky, louder and louder, until it felt like my lungs would burst. I collapsed as the circle of faces closed in. The ceiling vanished. The sky disappeared. All I could see were faces… the faces of those who died because of me.
And as they darkened, everything else faded. I was left with nothing but their voices, echoing the same sentence again and again, and again.
I couldn't fight anymore. My body gave in. My mind slipped. My soul began to unravel. I was lost in a despair so deep, words couldn't touch it. It felt like the final breath of my sanity.
But just when I was about to let go, something pulled me back. I woke up gasping—this time, I didn't drown. Not fully.
Someone *had* pulled me out. The water drained fast beneath me. The control room was empty. No one in sight. I looked down—the water was almost gone.
Everything was quiet. The board I was strapped to lowered slowly, inch by inch, until I hovered just above the floor.
*What new game is she playing now?* I wondered.
Before I could move, something cracked open. Footsteps rushed in. A man dropped to his knees in front of me.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
It was one of Monroe's guards—the one always glued to her side.
"I know you! What do you want from me?" I snapped, struggling against the cuffs, trying to break free.
"Shh!" He pressed his hand over my mouth and took off his glasses. The room was too dim to see him clearly, but I didn't need light to know who it was.
"I'll explain everything once we get you out," he whispered, already unlocking the cuffs.
The moment I stood, my knees buckled. I dropped, the weight of the water still clinging to my limbs. My legs felt hollow, barely mine.
"Her plan was to turn you into a monster. One drowning in guilt, rage, and darkness. One powerful enough to destroy the entire supernatural world."
He lifted me, arm around my waist, guiding me as I leaned on his shoulder.
He led me to a corner of the tank. A small door—his way in. We crouched and slipped through. Outside, the control room was dead. No power. Faint light barely touched the hallway, but enough to move forward.
He pointed toward a vent in the far right wall. "Can you crawl through that?"
I nodded and moved toward it, but paused, turning to him. "Why are you helping me?"
I didn't trust anyone anymore. My heart wouldn't let me.
He looked at me, his face still hidden in shadows. "Zinnia… I don't know you. I'm helping because this is wrong. What they're doing to you—it's sick. I can't let it go on."
His voice held something raw, something buried deep. I couldn't see his eyes, but I could feel it—the emotion trembling underneath every word.
I had no choice but to trust him.
"We don't have time—Monroe could be here any second," he urged.
I nodded, and we both crawled into the vent.
When we reached a wider space, my body gave out. I collapsed.
"You're weak," he said, helping me sit against the wall.
He reached into his bag and pulled out a small envelope. "It's been a while since you ate… I figured you'd need this."
He unwrapped it—a sandwich. I didn't hesitate. I shoved big bites down, barely chewing. It wasn't much, but it settled in my stomach like a coin hitting the bottom of a well, sending ripples through the emptiness.
Still, I was grateful. Something was better than nothing.
"You can rest here. No one knows about this place," he said softly.
It was like a small room, connecting multiple vents in one place.
But I didn't care, I was already fading. I slid down without realizing, and he shifted beside me so I wouldn't hit the floor. My head fell on his shoulder, and I drifted into a deep, heavy sleep.
Even then, I couldn't believe I was out of that tank. I kept waiting for the sting in my throat, the suffocating pull of water, the violent jolt back to reality. Any second now, I'd wake up coughing again.
I was tired of viewing my life through shadows, through fear. And even if I escaped this place, I wasn't sure I could ever return to the life I once knew.
I had convinced myself my friends had moved on. Maybe they stopped searching. Maybe… they never even tried.
While they were excited to see me soon, they had no idea one final task still waited.
At the heart of the maze, they stopped before a massive stone gate. In its center was a circular carving of a hammer—identical to the one Liam had used to break through the walls.
Before the gate stood a dry fountain, tangled in thick webs, and beyond it, a tall black fence blocked the way.
"I told you we should've brought the hammer," Shawn muttered, scanning the area.
He turned to get input from Cris and Liam, but paused. They were standing close by a statue, their conversation soft, faces lit with quiet laughter. Cris tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, looking down shyly as Liam leaned in to say something—his hand briefly reaching out to brush a leaf from her shoulder. She looked up, and for a fleeting moment, their eyes met like they were the only two people there.
Shawn clenched his jaw.
Rolling his eyes, he turned back to the fountain with a sharp exhale. He barely registered the dry, cracked bowls at first, distracted by the image still lingering in his mind. With a frustrated motion, he crouched down and peered beneath one of the bowls. There, carved into the stone, was what looked like a switch—an arrow-shaped mark etched beneath the rim.
His voice was a little louder, a little tighter than before.
"There are six bowls, each one higher than the last," he called out.
No response.
He looked back. Liam was still smiling at Cris, clearly distracted.
Shawn repeated himself—louder this time.
Cris glanced over. "Yeah! Unique design!" she shouted, then turned back to Liam.
Frustrated, mumbling, "So much for rescuing Zinnia *first*," Shawn focused again. On closer look, the arrow wasn't a switch—it was a clue. His eyes followed its direction upward… to the top of the tallest bowl, where something was sitting on it, but it was too high for him to see.
Suddenly, Cris spotted him climbing the stacked bowls, moving quickly until he was just an arm's length from the highest one.
Without hesitation, he pushed himself up and reached for the object lodged inside, the one he could see from down below. It was stuck deep in the center of the top bowl.
He jumped, grabbing the pillar that held the highest bowl, clinging to it like a sloth. Inch by inch, he pulled himself higher, gripping the object with all his strength.
The strain showed—veins bulged along his jaw as he yanked. With a final tug, it came loose.
A horn—carved with strange markings.
He dropped down and stumbled back just as a deep rumble echoed through the stone. Something inside the pillars was moving.
Then, with a blast, water erupted from the top bowl. It spilled down, filling each bowl in sequence until it reached the basin. The moment it filled, the entire fountain began to spin, sinking into the ground. Two discs emerged from the sides of the holes and slid toward each other until the hole vanished completely, leaving only smooth, bare earth behind.
Still holding the horn, he stared at it. The horn reminded him of the carvings he saw on the hammer. An idea sparked—one that might just get them out of this maze… and maybe even impress Cris.
"Stay back!" he called out.
Liam and Cris snapped to attention.
"What are you planning to do?" Cris asked, her voice tense. She could tell—whatever it was, it wasn't safe.
Shawn shot a look at her, as if holding back a storm of complaints, but said nothing. Instead, he told them to stay put—and without wasting a second, he raised the horn and blew it.
At first, silence. Then the earth trembled. Leaves rustled violently, the walls groaned, and the stone gate shuddered.
"What did you do?" Cris gripped Liam's arm tighter.
When the shaking stopped, they turned to Shawn. He was frozen, eyes locked on where the black fence had stood, on the opposite of tall stone gates.
They followed his gaze—and saw him.
A man, nearly seven feet tall, with a monstrous build. His breath came in harsh bursts. A Viking-style helmet covered part of his face, but his red eyes burned through the gaps. The wind whipped his long, filthy brown hair as he stepped forward, clutching the same hammer Liam once used to break the walls.
Shawn drew a deep breath, stepping back until he reached the stone gates. "Yeah, it was me!" he shouted—and blew the horn again.
The moment he lowered it, the giant charged. Hammer raised high, sprinting straight for Shawn.
Liam and Cris watched helplessly as the man closed in.
Just as the hammer came crashing down, Shawn dove to the left, rolled across the ground, and got as far from the gate as he could.
The hammer struck.
The impact blasted the stone gate apart. Shards rained from above, slamming into the giant's head—dropping him cold.