"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."
There was a pause.
Then Spes continued, his voice steady, calculated—identical to the way he'd spoken just minutes ago.
"However…"
"The others will be left behind."
"They'll face the Hunt without our help. No guidance. No protection. No hope."
"And there is no catch."
"If you accept this offer, you leave cleanly—no guilt, no debt, no lingering ties to this place. You'll be free."
Spes looked Ivy dead in the eyes. Cold. Still. Controlled.
The words, the phrasing—they were the same.
Exactly the same.
Word for word, the same offer he'd given Alice.
But… hadn't Spes promised each offer would be different?
Wasn't that the point? That each person was unique, with a unique temptation tailored to them?
Then why was Ivy hearing the same lines?
And that's when the it began to form. Not in Spes' expression—because there was none—but in the eerie familiarity of his words.
The offer wasn't about the reward.
It wasn't about escaping.
It was a test. A brutal one.
A test of loyalty.
Of how far you'd go for your team.
Of whether, when offered selfish salvation on a silver platter, you'd take it without hesitation—
Or stand your ground and walk through hell together.
This Phase didn't care about power.
It didn't care about logic or survival instinct.
It cared about connection. About loyalty. About unity.
Because in Palamine, you couldn't win alone.
Spes had lied when he said the offers would differ. That lie was the bait.
By telling each person they'd receive a "special" offer, it manipulated their perspective.
It fed their ego—whispered that they were the exception, the chosen one, the center of the story.That maybe they deserved to escape. That maybe they were just a little more important than the rest.
And with that, came the test's genius:
Would you betray your team, believing they would do the same?
Or would you risk everything, choosing trust—even when the odds were stacked to make you doubt?
Because only those who remained loyal—truly loyal—deserved to move forward with the help of this twisted world.
It was cruel.
It was brilliant.
And it was exactly how Palamine worked.
And Spes?
He was just the mouthpiece.
He didn't feel.
He didn't change.
He didn't care.
Every offer was scripted. Every outcome prewritten.
He was no judge, no god, no mentor.
He was just the lock on the door, waiting to see who brought the right key.
And for those who failed this test?
There would be no second chances.
Ivy let Spes finish.
She didn't speak.
Not until his final words settled into the silence like dust falling in a dead room.
Now, it was her turn.
She stood still, her breath barely audible, eyes locked on Spes like she was peering into the mouth of a machine—cold, unfeeling, endless.
But inside her mind, it wasn't quiet.
Her thoughts were spiraling—fast.
"Is this a trap?"
That was her first instinct.
Her gut twisted with suspicion.
"He said everyone gets a different offer... But what if he's lying?"
"Why would the offer be this convenient? This... simple?"
She replayed his words.
"You'll escape. You'll return to Phase Eleven. This phase will be completed."
It sounded like salvation.
But she'd been here long enough to know that salvation never came without a price.
And if this was real—
"I go back to Phase Eleven. Meet the others. Laugh it off. Maybe lie about what happened."
"Play dumb, pretend it was luck, maybe say the entities spared me…"
But then came the reality.
"They'd be gone. Harper. Nathan. Alice."
Her throat tightened.
"Alice…"
She thought about that girl—always smiling, always strangely hopeful. The one who carried chaos in her laugh and comfort in her words.
She walked into this kitchen first.
"Did she get the same offer?"
If so… did she accept?
Then Ivy whispered, more to herself than to Spes:
"The others will basically… be sacrificed for my survival."
There was a long pause.
Then she turned to Spes and asked, her voice quieter, sharper:
"Is that what you're trying to imply?"
Spes didn't blink.
"Yes. And there is no catch. You will leave this Phase clean."
"But the others will receive no help. That would prove none of you were worthy."
Ivy flinched.
"None of us are worthy?"
The phrase echoed strangely in her head.
She narrowed her eyes.
"Then why do I get to leave?"
"Why do I get to escape… and they don't?"
Her tone was calm—too calm.
Like a student cross-examining a teacher she no longer trusted.
Spes' reply came swift and empty.
"Because this is your offer. There is no catch. That's for sure."
And just like that… the floor was hers again.
Her thoughts roared behind the silence.
"He's lying."
Not in words—but in design.
"There is a catch. The catch is belief."
Each person is given the illusion of choice.
The illusion that their decision is unique.
That they alone were deemed special enough to be freed.
But that's the true test.
It wasn't just about trust in the team—it was trust in truth itself.
"The moment I believe I'm the exception…"
"…Is the moment I fail."
She swallowed.
Thought of Alice.
Of Nathan's annoying arguments.
Of Harper's sarcasm hiding her fear.
They weren't perfect.
But they were trying.
And more than anything—they deserved a chance.
So Ivy breathed in.
Lifted her head.
And said, slowly… firmly… unwavering:
"Then I decline the offer."
Silence.
But it was different now.
Not oppressive.
Not suffocating.
But sharp—like something had been cut through.
Like truth had been spoken in a place where truth rarely lived.
She stepped back. Eyes unwavering. Jaw set.
Spes did not flinch.
He simply nodded.
No praise. No smile. No "well done."
Just a subtle gesture toward the window—open now.
Ivy didn't hesitate.
She turned, walked past the table, and climbed through, just like Alice had.
Outside, the wind brushed against her skin like she had just shed a layer of herself.
She landed quietly. But her decision echoed louder than anything in that house.
And inside, the test continued.
Two down. Two to go.
As Ivy landed softly on the grass outside the window, she straightened herself and brushed the dust from her palms. Her breath was still a little shaky, her heart pounding from the intensity of the choice she'd just made.
And then—she saw her.
Just beside the cottage wall, partially concealed in the shadows, stood Alice.
She had her hands folded neatly behind her back, leaning gently against the wooden wall of the cottage. Her blonde hair swayed with the cold breeze, softly fluttering in the moonlight. Her eyes met Ivy's—calm, knowing, and filled with a quiet kind of pride.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Alice's lips.
"Good job."
Alice said simply, her voice light, but meaningful.
Ivy stared at her for a second, blinking.
Then her shoulders finally slumped—not from defeat, but from release.
The tension bled out of her all at once.
Without another word, she walked forward and pulled Alice into a hug. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't dramatic. It was just human. Two people finding connection after being forced to choose between betrayal and loyalty.
Alice hugged her back, just as gently.
After a quiet moment, Ivy pulled away and looked at her.
"So… you heard everything, huh?"
Alice nodded.
"Spes told me to wait by the window. Said I should listen to the others take their tests."
Ivy's brow furrowed, piecing it together.
"Then… you know. He lied, right?"
"The offer he gave you—was it the same?"
Alice nodded again, her smile turning a little sharper.
"Word for word."
Ivy exhaled slowly, a hand running through her hair.
"So much for 'everyone gets a different offer'…"
"Yeah," Alice muttered. "That part was just bait. Make us feel like we were the only ones offered the easy way out. So if we took it, we'd think no one else would know. Just us."
Ivy shook her head in disbelief, half-laughing.
"Smart manipulation. Makes sense though… This whole phase is about testing bonds. About seeing if we're still people when everything turns against us."
Alice looked out at the dark treeline beyond the cottage. The sickly tentacles still writhed in the distance, rising like warnings.
"And they wanted to see who breaks… and who stands their ground."
Ivy crossed her arms.
"Well, they're gonna be disappointed."
Alice smiled again. Not wide. Not victorious. But genuine.
There was still fear. Still uncertainty.
But in this moment, beside this cottage, beneath this haunted sky—they weren't broken.They were together.
And that mattered.
"Once you're broken, you can reshape yourself into anything," Alice said, her eyes still fixed on the horizon.
"You just need to be smart enough to use the broken pieces properly."
Ivy turned to her, silent for a second.
Then nodded.
She finally understood.
And now… they waited.
For Harper.
For Nathan.
For the rest of their story to unfold.
Inside the cottage, the air felt heavier than it had been moments ago. The hallway was dim, the wooden floor creaking every now and then from distant footsteps—Spes was still somewhere inside.
Only Harper and Nathan remained seated in the main hall.
The silence between them wasn't comforting. It wasn't peaceful. It was the kind of silence that made your heartbeat feel loud in your ears.
Harper was curled up in a tight cannonball position on the armchair, her knees hugged up to her chest, chin resting on top. Her arms were wrapped tight, like she was trying to hold herself together—literally.
She looked like a kid trying not to cry in front of strangers.
But inside?
She was unraveling.
"I can't take this anymore,"she thought.
"I think I'm going to vomit and pass out. I just want to go home. I don't want to be here anymore."
Her thoughts began to spiral.
"I miss my mom. My sister. I miss my old life, my shitty bed, my stupid job. I miss being bored. I miss my friends. I want out. I want out of this whole cursed thing."
She closed her eyes for a moment.
And then, like a reflex—she masked it.
Turned it into sarcasm. It was her oldest trick. Her only shield.
She glanced over at Nathan, her tone dry and biting.
"This phase thing is so stupid. I don't know who made this dimensional bullshit, or what kind of cosmic diarrhea we're swimming in, but it's honestly laughable at this point."
Nathan looked up, letting her words settle.
Then, he actually responded. Calmly. Softly.
"I mean... this all seems like a dream to me at this point."
"I have so many doubts. But we never really got the chance to talk about it, did we?"
Harper said nothing. Just listened. The sarcasm faded from her face, just a little.
"We were all so, too busy trying to survive, We barely even got a chance to breath, sit back and talk about what we are dealing with, Even back in Phase 11, we were so nervous of each other, that we never bothered bring this up, We were so focused on trying to bond. Trying to learn who we were stuck with. But never once did we really talk about what the hell this place is."
"What the phases mean. Why we're even here."
He paused. His gaze fixed on the wooden floor.
"I want to live. No matter what."
"I want to see things through to the end. I want answers, Harper. I want to understand everything before this is over."
The words hung between them.
Harper's sarcastic mask faltered.
For a flicker of a second, something in her stirred.
"See things through to the end..."
"To know all the answers..."
The words echoed in her mind, soft like distant bells. She hated how much they resonated with her.
But she didn't let it show.
Instead, she rolled her eyes and gave a soft scoff.
"So philosophical. You sound very mature... only to be dumb."
Nathan chuckled, shaking his head.
The moment passed. But something lingered.
Both of them went quiet again.
The silence didn't feel so hollow now. It carried a thread of something unspoken—respect, maybe. Or shared exhaustion.
Then, they heard the sound.
Spes.
His footsteps echoed from the hallway, approaching slowly, surely.
And in that instant, both of them knew.
One of them would be called next.
And everything would change.