Izzy's POV
I followed her in silence, heart still thudding from what she said - or maybe from how she said it. Not in some soft, swoony way, but like a warning.
You have a chance.
What did that even mean coming from her? A chance at what?
A chance to get closer? A chance to ruin everything?
The second zone was deeper in the woods, the torches thinning out until the shadows did most of the work. Trees loomed, dark and skeletal, their bark carved with old runes that glowed faintly blue. The silence wasn't peaceful - it was loaded. Like the forest itself was holding its breath, waiting to see who cracked first.
She didn't speak, didn't look at me. Just moved ahead with that unsettling calm of hers, like she belonged here - like the shadows knew her name.
I hated how magnetic that was.
The checkpoint marker glowed ahead: Zone 4 - "The Echoing House." A wooden structure sat crooked and wrong in the clearing, like it had grown from the ground instead of being built. The windows were blacked out. The air around it felt... off. Like the kind of place nightmares tiptoe around.
Wednesday tilted her head. "This one's new."
"Cool. Can't wait to be psychologically torn apart."
"You already looked emotionally unstable before we started," she said dryly, stepping toward the door.
I grinned in spite of myself. "Thanks. I work hard to keep that image alive."
She didn't knock. Of course she didn't. She just pushed the door open and walked in.
I followed.
Inside, everything was cold. The walls groaned like they were breathing. A long hallway stretched ahead with mirrors at the end - again - but these weren't warped like the last trial.
These looked... real. Like glass so clean it hurt to look at.
A voice rang out from nowhere: "In the Echoing House, your secrets will speak before you do."
The door slammed shut behind us.
I flinched.
Wednesday didn't. She just kept walking.
We stopped at the first mirror.
My reflection stared back at me - only it wasn't me.
She looked the same, yes. Same hair, same eyes. But her expression was twisted. Open. Vulnerable. Terrified.
"You want her to like you," my reflection said.
I froze.
"She looks at you like a puzzle. And you're terrified she'll stop trying to solve you."
I glanced at Wednesday, but she was already moving to the next mirror. Didn't comment. Didn't laugh.
Didn't deny it.
We kept going.
The next mirror showed her - or some version of her - hunched over a typewriter, bleeding ink. Literally. It spilled from her fingers, soaked the keys, and still she typed. And typed. And typed.
"You think if you stop moving, your mind will eat you alive," the mirror said in her voice.
She stared at it for a long moment.
"I already knew that," she muttered.
I touched her wrist - gently. She didn't pull away. Just looked down at where my fingers were, like she didn't understand why I'd done it.
I didn't either.
Another door appeared in the mirror's reflection. We turned - and it was behind us, glowing faintly. The exit.
We walked out together, the air hitting our skin like relief.
Neither of us spoke for a while. Until she stopped walking and said, quietly, "Your secret wasn't surprising."
"Cool. Glad my fear of rejection is so obvious."
She looked at me - really looked. "It's not fear. It's something else."
"What, then?"
Her eyes narrowed like she was trying to find the right word. "Want."
I swallowed.
"I didn't say I wanted anything."
"You didn't have to." She paused, then turned her head slightly, just enough for me to catch the faintest smile. "Your subconscious screamed it."
I opened my mouth to argue - to deflect, flirt, make a joke. But then-
A flutter of wings broke the tension. Something landed on the branch just above us.
A raven.
Wednesday froze.
"Friend of yours?" I asked, cautiously.
She stepped closer to it. The bird cocked its head at her, then at me. Its feathers shimmered dark violet in the torchlight.
"It's been following me since I got here," she said softly. "Sometimes it brings messages."
I blinked. "Like... Hogwarts-style?"
She ignored me and reached into the pouch on its leg. A tiny scroll of parchment. She read it, then tucked it away.
"What did it say?"
She didn't answer right away. Then, carefully: "That not every connection is a weakness."
She looked at me when she said it.
I stared at her.
That was the first time I saw her unsure. It flickered across her face like lightning - brief, but real. Like saying that aloud had cost her something.
I didn't know what to say to that. So I didn't say anything.
Just stood there, watching the raven fly off into the trees, and felt the air between us shift.
Like something had cracked open.
Like something had started.
⸻
Later, in the Dorm Room
Enid was already half-asleep when we got back. I kicked my boots off and flopped onto her bed with a dramatic sigh.
"That was... traumatizing," I mumbled.
Wednesday lit a candle. Not because she was a witch or anything, but because apparently, she didn't trust overhead lighting.
"I've been through worse."
"You always say that."
"Because it's always true."
She sat down at her desk and opened her notebook. I watched her from the corner of my eye.
Something in me itched to say something. To ask.
"Hey... that thing you said earlier. About me having a chance."
She didn't look up. "What about it?"
"Did you mean it?"
This time, she paused mid-sentence.
Then, finally, she said, "Yes."
Just that. Simple. Blunt.
But my chest did something weird and fluttery.
I curled deeper into the blankets. Enid had left a heating pad under the covers. I loved her a little extra for that.
Wednesday's candle flickered.
"Go to sleep," she said quietly.
"I will."
But I didn't.
Not for a while.
I stayed awake, listening to the sound of her pen scratching across the page. The candle crackling. The occasional flap of wings outside the window.
Wondering what the hell this was becoming.
And why the idea of her stopping... scared me more than any echoing house ever could.