The cool, stagnant air of the alleyway clung to Wyne's skin like a damp shroud.
This was one of the many narrow veins of Malacca City that remained untouched by the festival's neon glow—a place where the shadows seemed to have a physical weight, blackening half the passage despite the brilliant, golden afternoon light just a few yards away.
Wyne emerged from the darkness with slow, deliberate steps. Her breath was shallow, and she bit her lower lip so hard she could taste the faint, metallic tang of copper.
One of her fists was clenched at her side, her knuckles white, as she mentally steeled herself.
She looked less like a teenage girl on a field trip and more like a soldier crossing a trench.
With a sharp, determined exhale, she took a step forward into the light, bracing herself as if she were about to face a monster.
Her mind, however, was still trapped in the conversation from moments ago—the reason she had abandoned Trizha in the first place.
***
Minutes earlier.
The sun had been hot on their necks as they stood at the edge of the "nothing zone." Trizha had been distracted, her head turned toward the passing students, leaving Wyne and Margaret in a pocket of temporary privacy.
"Wyne, I want you to go somewhere for me,"
Margaret had said. Her tone wasn't its usual robotic monotone; it was firm, carrying a strange, directional weight that made Wyne turn around instantly.
Wyne raised an eyebrow, her confusion mounting.
Of course, before all this, Wyne saw Margaret put something in her bag. Something sharp, and confronted her about it until now.
She had just been trying to wrap her head around the bizarre architectural void of the Mirror Maze plaza, and now Margaret was acting like a field commander.
"Huh? Why so sudden? Do you need me to go find a vending machine or get you something?"
"No," Margaret replied simply, shaking her head.
With a slow, deliberate movement, Margaret raised her arm. Her index finger cut through the air, pointing directly toward a yawning, dark alleyway tucked between two crumbling brick colonial buildings.
Wyne followed the gesture, her eyes squinting against the glare of the sun. The more Margaret spoke in riddles, the more the knot of anxiety in Wyne's stomach tightened.
"...So, what about that dark alley?" Wyne asked, her voice dropping an octave. "It looks like a great place to get mugged, Margaret."
"There is someone tailing us," Margaret stated suddenly, her eyes fixed on the shadows of that alley. "He has been following our trail for quite some time. I want you to go in there, confront him as well, and make him explain his reasons for tracking us."
Wyne's heart did a frantic somersault in her chest.
"Me?! You want me to go play private investigator? Margaret, I don't know this person! I don't even know what they look like! Not to mention that it's incredibly risky... What if he's some kind of predator? What if he's dangerous?"
"Maybe. Maybe he is," Margaret conceded, her gaze finally drifting back to Wyne.
There was a flicker of something resembling reassurance in her pale eyes.
"But trust me, you will be fine. He is likely someone we know very well, even if we've never spoken to him much. His presence has been bothering my intuition for a while, but I don't sense a murderous intent... merely an observation."
Wyne shifted her weight, her boots scuffing the pavement. "...F-fine then! But if I get into trouble or end up in a ditch, you're coming down to hell with me!"
Margaret tilted her head, a ghost of a deadpan expression crossing her face. "Go to hell with you and get us an autograph from Jigsaw? Okie. I'll bring a pen."
"What? No! That's... that's not at all what I meant!" Wyne sputtered, her face flushing. "Ugh, whatever... alright then. I'll go. But you stay here and keep an eye on Trizha for me. She's... she's still acting a bit fragile."
"I can't do that," Margaret said, her voice cutting through Wyne's request like a blade. "I am also going to go and confront a certain someone as well. Someone far more... complicated."
Wyne's eyes widened. "Really? You too? In that case, let me go with you! We're stronger together, right? We can deal with your guy first and then move to mine."
Margaret instantly raised a hand, the palm facing Wyne in a silent command to stop.
Her expression had shifted into something terrifyingly serious, yet it remained draped in her usual casual veneer.
The gesture was so absolute that Wyne flinched, the words dying in her throat.
"If I wait, it will be too late," Margaret explained, her eyes darting toward the distant Mirror Maze. "The windows of opportunity are closing. We have to do this at the same time, Wyne. Synchronicity is our only advantage."
Wyne felt the weight of the situation pressing down on her. There was no room for argument, no space for the usual trio antics.
"...I see. No other choices, huh? But Margaret... what is the point of all this? Why split up now, when things are getting weird?"
"Uhm... well..." Margaret paused, looking up at the sky as if searching for the right words. "I just sort of feel like something is fundamentally wrong with the sequence of events today. I want to make a move before that feeling becomes a reality. Your situation is not as dire as mine, but I hope for both our sakes that my intuition is slightly exaggerated."
"Wait, what's that supposed to mean? Not as dire? Margaret!" Wyne reached out, trying to grab her friend's attention, but Margaret was already looking past her.
Margaret had spotted him—the red-haired figure she had seen earlier—entering the Mirror Maze house in the distance.
The timing was precise, almost choreographed.
"Margaret? Helloooo? Earth to Marga!" Wyne waved a hand in front of Margaret's face.
Suddenly, Margaret's hand shot out.
She grabbed Wyne's arm with a grip that was firm and unyielding, though careful not to bruise.
Without another word, she began pulling Wyne away from the "Empty zone," effectively abandoning Trizha as she steered Wyne toward the mouth of the dark alley.
"Let's meet up later," Margaret said, her voice trailing off as she began to walk in the opposite direction toward her own objective.
"All three of us. You'll be fine alone, Wyne. At least around that guy you're about to confront."
Wyne stood at the entrance of the alley, watching Margaret's retreating back with a sense of profound abandonment.
"After all..." Margaret's final words echoed in the cramped space of the alleyway.
"...You understand this guy much better than I ever could."