The fragile unity they'd built hung over them like a glass chandelier on fraying rope—beautiful, necessary, and doomed to shatter at the wrong word or glance.
Elara walked in front, the de facto leader no one had voted for, but everyone silently followed. The hall ahead of them stretched narrow and long, lined with tall mirrors on either side. Their reflections moved as they did—but sometimes just a heartbeat too slow, like the glass was thinking before it mimicked.
The silence between them wasn't peace. It was a ceasefire.
Kemi walked beside her, eyes flicking from wall to wall, fingers dancing across the fractured surfaces like she could feel the meaning hiding beneath. "There's a pattern," she said finally. "The cracks. They're not random. They form something... geometric."
Jace, just behind them, muttered, "A map, maybe. Like a puzzle the Room wants us to solve before it swallows us whole."
Harper was further back, her footsteps light, hesitant. "A way out?" she whispered, almost afraid to hope.
Elara slowed, her gaze catching on one mirror. It shimmered oddly—like it wasn't quite part of this plane. Her hand rose before she could think better of it and pressed against the cool glass.
The surface rippled beneath her touch, fluid and alive, as if her fingers disturbed a pond that had never known air.
Then—click—a sound like stone grinding against itself echoed through the hall.
The wall directly to her right shifted. Slowly. Reluctantly. A panel slid inward, revealing a hidden corridor swallowed in darkness. The air that bled out of it was colder, wetter, ancient.
They all froze.
Dorian's muscles tensed. "Hidden passage," he said flatly. Not surprised. Not pleased. Just alert.
Coyle stepped closer, head tilted. "This could be a trap. Or worse."
"Or the answer," Elara said, steady but quiet. Her voice didn't shake, but she felt the chill in her spine settle like a warning.
One by one, they stepped inside.
The temperature dropped instantly. The air was thick and unmoving, as though the corridor had been sealed for centuries. The only light came from the walls themselves — mirrors, but not like before. These were aged. Fogged. Cracked. And more disturbingly... alive.
Symbols pulsed faintly across the glass in soft, red-gold light. Glyphs that looked familiar in a way Elara couldn't place. Like dreams remembered too late.
Kemi knelt, running her hands over the lower edge of the mirror. "These aren't memories. Not like the others. They're warnings. Coordinates, maybe. A trail."
Jace frowned. "Coordinates to what?"
Harper gave a soft, fearful laugh. "To the end of us."
Then came the voice.
Soft. Beckoning. And terribly familiar.
"Elara..."
She spun around, pulse spiking. Her breath caught in her throat.
No one.
Just shadow.
Harper reached for her arm, grip tight. "It's her again," she whispered. "The one in the mirrors. The one that knows you."
Elara gave a slight nod. She didn't trust her voice. She couldn't trust much of anything in here.
They moved on.
The corridor twisted as if designed to disorient. Angles shouldn't have existed here, but they did. The very air felt... bent. Sound warped. Their footsteps echoed in ways they shouldn't have, some sharp, some distant, as if time itself didn't agree with their presence.
The mirrors grew worse as they went deeper.
Now they showed more than symbols.
They showed scenes.
Memories? Illusions? Warnings?
Elara wasn't sure.
One mirror displayed Jace—alone, bleeding, crawling through a hallway full of shifting knives. Another showed Kemi standing over a destroyed tablet, sobbing silently as fire consumed data she couldn't save.
Harper's reflection held no face—just a screaming void where her eyes should've been.
And Elara—
Her mirror showed her standing over a body. Someone she loved. Her hands were stained, trembling, and the mirror whispered again: "You did this."
Coyle stood silent at the back, his eyes flicking across every mirror with surgical detachment. But even he looked paler than usual.
Dorian's steps slowed as he stared at a mirror to his right. He said nothing, but his fists clenched. Elara caught a flicker of a child in the glass—a girl with Dorian's eyes, standing alone in a storm of glass shards.
"Kemi," Elara said tightly, trying to focus. "Can you read more of these symbols? Anything useful?"
Kemi didn't look up. Her voice was strained, distracted. "They're ancient. Some type of numerology crossed with spatial orientation. The glyphs... they change when we pass them."
"Adaptable architecture," Jace said. "The Room reacts to us."
"No," Kemi said. "It anticipates."
That single word quieted everyone.
The corridor stretched longer than any physical space should have allowed. Time passed differently here. Seconds stretched, bent. Harper muttered under her breath, counting—first minutes, then hours. But the numbers didn't make sense.
At last, a faint glow began to flicker at the far end of the corridor.
It pulsed, slow and rhythmic—like a heartbeat.
Elara felt it in her bones before she saw it. Her body wanted to run toward it. Her mind screamed at her to turn back.
The mirrors began to whisper.
First one. Then all of them.
Their voices overlapped, a cascade of secrets spilling into the air.
"Elara lies."
"Harper knows more."
"Jace is ready to betray."
"Dorian remembers."
"Kemi failed."
"Coyle isn't what he seems."
Every step closer to the light made the voices louder.
"Only one leaves."
"Only one leaves."
"Only one—"
"STOP!" Elara's voice cracked like thunder. The corridor stilled. Just for a moment.
Then, one mirror shattered.
The sound echoed like a gunshot.
Harper screamed and covered her ears. "They're trying to make us turn on each other!"
"They don't have to try hard," Jace muttered.
Dorian turned to him, jaw tight. "Say that again."
"Enough!" Elara stepped between them, shoving both back. Her voice shook, but her stance didn't. "This is exactly what the Room wants. Us fighting. Doubting. Splitting apart. We've come too far to fall into that now."
"Then what the hell is that?" Coyle asked, nodding toward the glow at the corridor's end. "Salvation or slaughter?"
"I don't know," Elara admitted. "But I'm going to find out."
She stepped forward.
The others followed, reluctantly.
They emerged into a chamber unlike the others—circular, cathedral-like. At the center stood a massive mirror, framed in gold so old it flaked into the air like ash. Unlike the others, this mirror wasn't cracked. It was flawless. Still.
And yet... it didn't reflect them.
Instead, it showed a door.
A real one.
Wood. Iron. Bolted.
The kind of door you don't just open—you choose to open.
"It's... real?" Harper whispered.
"No," Kemi said. "It's next."
Elara stepped closer. She stared into the mirror-door, waiting for it to move. To react.
Instead, it stared back.
Then, faintly, from the walls—movement. The mirrors lining the chamber began to flicker. Images raced across them.
Scenes from their lives.
Regret.
Guilt.
Love.
Loss.
Jace fell to one knee, clutching his head. "It's inside—"
Dorian grabbed his arm, dragging him back. "Don't lose yourself. Focus!"
Elara closed her eyes, breathed deep, and reached out.
The moment her hand touched the mirror's surface, the door inside it creaked. Not open—unlocked.
Something had changed.
Something had been chosen.
A whisper crawled into her mind, icy and slow.
"One must open the door. One must remain behind."
She yanked her hand back like it burned.
"What happened?" Kemi asked quickly.
"It... spoke," Elara said. "Only one can open it. The rest—"
She didn't finish.
They all understood.
This wasn't an exit.
It was a test.
Again.
Another trial in the guise of hope.
The Room would never let them leave freely.
And this door wasn't salvation—it was sacrifice.