Joseph dreamed again.

Darkness. No shape. No weight. Just sound.

Voices, drifting in and out like a scratched record playing in a void.

“…Yes, I’d like to,” said David—soft, uncertain, a little breathless.

Then Preston, grinning through his tone: “Okay. From now on, we’re boyfriends.”

Laughter followed. Distant. Echoing.

Other voices chimed in—not quite clear, not quite real.

“Aww!”

“Finally!”

“Took you long enough!”

Cheering. Applause. Joy.

Faint claps, like a schoolyard celebration played through a broken speaker. Too warm. Too far away. Too… wrong.

Joseph didn’t move. He couldn’t. The words just sank into him like smoke.

Boyfriends.

The laughter looped. Then faded.

Then silence.

He woke up drenched in sweat.

His heart kicked against his ribs like it was trying to get out. The ceiling loomed above him—dim, cracked, familiar. His hands trembled.

Joseph lay there, breathing through his teeth.

He didn’t know why David keep appearing in his dreams.

He didn’t know why he kept hearing Preston’s voice in that tone.

He didn’t know why it felt like remembering something he never lived.

Why am I dreaming this?

The question pulsed behind his eyes, sticky and unwelcome.

There were no answers.

Only the tick of the wall clock.

Only the weight of the day pressing in again.

The door clicked open.

One by one, they stepped out into the hallway again, blinking as if they hadn’t seen light in days. Maybe they hadn’t. Time moved differently in this place—slow, thick, like walking through syrup.

They didn’t speak, but they all noticed it. 

Jude’s door. 

Another red X. 

Fresh. Wet. Almost smug.

Max stared at it for too long. Nina turned her face away. Preston muttered something under his breath that no one caught. 

Joseph didn’t move. 

He just watched the paint slide down the wood, as if it were trying to leave a message they couldn’t read yet.

Eleven. Then nine. Now eight. 

They moved silently down the hallway, their shoulders brushing, and their steps heavy on the stairs. It was automatic now, returning to the living room like soldiers after roll call. 

Joseph followed, but halfway down the staircase, something caught his eye.

Eli. 

He was moving ahead of them, his hand on the railing, and descending like the rest. 

But he wasn’t limping. 

Joseph blinked. Once. Twice. 

No limp. No stagger. No hesitation. He was putting full weight on the leg that had taken a bullet. 

And then—just before reaching the landing—Eli stumbled. Just slightly. Just enough to catch himself and start favoring the leg again. 

Joseph frowned. 

It was nothing. Probably. The mind played tricks when it hadn’t slept. 

He reached the bottom step. 

That’s when Max stopped short. “Hold up.” 

Everyone froze. 

He pointed toward the corner of the ceiling. “That camera.” 

They looked up. 

It was back. 

The same one Max had shattered with a butter knife—cracked glass. 

No cracks. No twists. No damage. 

Whole. Blinking red. 

Watching them. 

Max took a step back, suddenly pale. “That—no, I—That was broken. I broke that.” 

It was true. 

And now it wasn’t.

The red light blinked softly in the corner, steady and calm. 

“Stop doing that, Max,” Amelia said in a dry voice. “It’s useless. You’re just wasting their budget.” 

Max blinked at her. “Good,” he muttered. “Hope they run out.” 

No one laughed. 

No one even smiled. 

The moment passed 

They reached the living room again. The couches looked smaller. Or maybe they had just shrunk. No one sat. 

Joseph stood near the edge of the room, unsure where to go or where he belonged. 

Leo approached him first. His voice was low and careful. “You didn’t have a choice, you know.” 

Joseph didn’t answer. 

Leo continued. “Back there. The game. That wasn’t on you.” 

“They knew about it,” Nina added, stepping closer, her arms wrapped around herself like a shield. “They chose Jude knowingly.” 

Joseph didn’t argue. 

But he didn’t agree, either. 

Celeste sat down on the floor without warning, her back pressed against the cold wall. She covered her face with her hands. A sound escaped her—small, wet, not quite a sob but close. 

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t do this again.” 

No one moved to comfort her. 

Preston hovered by the wall, chewing at the skin around his thumbnail. Nina blinked rapidly and flicked her gaze between the windows, even though they remained blacked out.

Amelia leaned against the table, arms crossed, face pale. The smugness had finally slipped from her voice. “This isn’t a game anymore,” she muttered. “This is just—just cruel.” 

“Now it’s cruel?” Eli snapped. 

Everyone turned. 

He was standing near the fireplace, jaw clenched, eyes burning. “Now it’s cruel because you watched someone bleed? Now it’s cruel because Joseph pulled the trigger and not a stranger? Get real. You were fine when it was Lena.” 

No one answered. 

Eli stepped forward, limping and wincing as he shifted his weight. 

Amelia turned toward him sharply. 

“Fine?” she said. “What do you mean by fine, Eli?” 

Everyone stilled. 

Her voice cracked on the next word. 

“Lena is my sister.” 

Eli blinked. 

“You think I was fine when they took her?” she continued, stepping closer now, arms shaking at her sides. “You think I wanted this? To hear her scream through the walls? To see that stupid red X on her door like it was a joke? She was our family.” 

The room had gone still again. Even Celeste looked up from her place on the floor, eyes red and dazed. 

Eli’s jaw clenched. “You didn’t act like it.” 

Amelia stared at him. “How do you want me to act in this situation, Eli? Huh? Tell me.” 

Eli flinched, just barely. The air thickened like it might break. 

Max dropped into one of the chairs as if his spine had given out, covering his face with his hands. “We’re all losing it.” 

No one disagreed. 

“I remember,” Amelia said, softer now. “When there were still five of us girls. We’d do our night routine together before bed—face masks, gossip, dumb songs. And every single night, one of you boys would bang on the door, start a food fight, or play some stupid prank that ruined the vibe, and we’d have to start all over.” 

Her smile was small and sad. 

“We still laughed, though. It was stupid. It was fun.”

“Lena and I were the only ones who ever showed up to the breast cancer charity gala. Do you remember that? You all said it was boring—too many old ladies. She made me wear a pink sash and stand in heels for three hours. She called it ‘torture with purpose.’”

Eli looked away, and Amelia pressed her lips together. The silence stretched on, dense and suffocating.

Suddenly, the overhead light buzzed once and flickered. The screen on the far wall came to life again, displaying static and a low hum. 

Then, the Mastermind’s voice came through, smooth as syrup. “Rested enough? Ready for another round?”

Max groaned and leaned back in his chair. “Oh, here come the freaks.”

Footsteps echoed behind the screen, and moments later, several masked men entered the room, walking in formation like clockwork. One carried the familiar velvet box—small, square, and inexplicably elegant for what it always contained.

They set it down on the table in the center of the room as if it were sacred. No one moved, and no one asked what was inside. They all knew better by now.

Then Leo stepped forward. “I’ll do it,” he said, his voice low. No one stopped him.

He approached the table, exhaled slowly, and opened the box. Inside lay a neat stack of folded white slips, all crisply edged and perfectly centered.

Leo took one. He unfolded it without hesitation and stared at the name printed in bold ink.

“Truth and Dare."

The screen behind them flickered again before lighting up. Static hissed like breath, and the Mastermind’s voice followed, smooth and practiced. “Oh, a fun game.”

No one responded.

“Next round is called Truth and Dare. Both will be required—no refusals, no shortcuts.”