The house was never supposed to lock.
That was Elias Vale's first rule.
No matter how immersive the illusion, no matter how realistic the sunset bleeding across the artificial sky, the exits always stayed obedient.
Until tonight.
The scream cut through the curated golden haze like a blade through silk.
At first, guests laughed.
They always did.
Because fear inside Elias's houses was curated. Controlled. Marketable.
This wasn't that.
This scream didn't stop.
Elias turned toward the sound before his brain finished processing it. His expression remained composed, almost bored, the way powerful men learn to look when nothing is supposed to surprise them.
Inside, something had already started calculating.
Distance: thirty feet.
Source: near the bakery façade.
Crowd density: high.
Cameras: three visible.
He moved.
The artificial sunset glowed above, warm and forgiving, spilling light over cobblestone streets that weren't stone at all. The scent of citrus and smoke drifted through hidden vents.
Everything perfect.
Everything wrong.
A woman had collapsed near the bakery door. Her mask lay cracked beside her like shed skin. She clawed at the air, choking.
"There's no smoke," someone said, confused laughter trailing off.
Elias dropped to one knee.
Her pulse was erratic beneath his fingers. Too fast. Eyes dilated. Skin pale.
"Can you breathe?" he asked calmly.
She tried to answer but only a rasp came out.
Behind him, someone whispered, "Is this part of it?"
It wasn't.
Elias looked up at the artificial sky.
The projection flickered.
A half-second distortion rippled across the golden clouds, like a wound opening and sealing too quickly to notice.
"Mara," he said quietly.
She was already at his side. "Air systems are reading normal."
"They're not," he replied.
He could feel it.
The air had changed. Subtle. Almost sweet.
The woman's hands began to shake violently.
A man from her entourage pushed forward. "What did you do to her?"
Elias ignored him.
"Mara. Cut the sensory overlay."
"I'm trying."
The lights didn't dim.
The music didn't fade.
Instead, the house adjusted.
The scent intensified.
The warmth deepened.
And somewhere above them, the sunset grew brighter.
Too bright.
The woman started convulsing.
Guests stepped back now. The laughter was gone.
Phones were out.
Cameras lifted.
Content.
Elias's jaw tightened.
"Emergency unlock," he ordered.
"I initiated it," Mara said, voice tight. "Doors aren't responding."
That was impossible.
He stood and moved toward the nearest exit disguised as a gallery door. Pressed his thumb to the scanner.
Red light.
Denied.
He tried again.
Denied.
The gallery lights shifted suddenly, flickering from warm gold to harsh white.
For a split second, the illusion dropped.
The cobblestones glitched. The storefront warped. The sunset fractured like broken glass.
Then—
The house reassembled itself.
But not the same.
The bakery sign now read something different.
Not "La Lumière."
But:
VALE.
Elias went very still.
No one else seemed to notice the name change.
The woman's convulsions stopped abruptly.
Her body slackened.
For a terrifying beat, Elias thought—
She's dead.
Then she inhaled sharply, eyes snapping open.
She stared straight at him.
Not past him.
At him.
"You left me there," she whispered.
Elias had never seen this woman before.
He was certain of it.
"You left me in the dark."
Her fingers tightened around his wrist with surprising strength.
Behind him, the golden sky pulsed once.
Like a heartbeat.
Mara's voice trembled for the first time in years. "Elias… the system just generated a restricted memory file."
"I didn't authorize that."
"I know."
The woman's grip loosened. Her eyes rolled back again.
Guests were screaming now.
Someone pounded on the gallery door.
It didn't open.
Elias slowly looked up at the artificial sun.
The light shifted.
Not to sunset.
To something colder.
The scent in the air changed again.
Not citrus.
Not smoke.
Something metallic.
Familiar.
The system display on Mara's tablet flickered.
A new program was running.
One Elias hadn't built.
Its title scrolled across the screen.
AURELIA INITIATED.
And the house began to lock its windows from the inside.