'Dammit' Ming Sulin cursed silently slapping her thigh in anger.
The cabin creaked again, but this time it wasn't the dungeon twisting.
It was the sound of everyone else finally stirring awake.
Groggy, bruised, and smelling like dried blood, the other blinked blearily as they sat up.
Gregory, margart, derek, tally, steve and jake were all dazed.
The fire had burned low, leaving only coals glowing faintly in the hearth.
Ming Sulin already had her daggers sheathed and her arms crossed, standing like she hadn't just spent hours cutting down waves of yellow-grade zombies. Nancy rubbed her eyes, hair sticking out in every direction.
"Morning, sunshine," Ming Sulin muttered.
Nancy grumbled something unholy and shuffled toward the nearest table.
The others moved sluggishly, but soon enough the group started searching the Ranger Cabin. Every drawer was pulled open, every cupboard ransacked, every loose floorboard tested.
The dungeon loved leaving "breadcrumbs," and Ming Sulin wasn't about to miss them.
With a flick of her wrist, she pulled out a peculiar trinket: a magnifying glass with faint runes etched along its handle—her Plot Finder Magnifying Glass.
It shimmered faintly, the lens glowing when it detected anything tied to the dungeon's hidden narrative.
"Alright," she murmured, scanning the room. "Show me your secrets."
The glass pulsed, pulling her toward a stack of old binders shoved behind the ranger's desk. She crouched, brushing dust aside. Papers fluttered free, yellowed and brittle, but the words stood out clear.
Local News Reports:
• Weird animal sightings near the lake—moose with glowing eyes reported chasing campers.
• Hikers vanish in record numbers. Authorities dismiss as "lack of preparation."
• Local rangers warned of increased predator activity but told to keep sites open.
Nancy frowned, skimming a page. "They knew?"
Ming Sulin's lips pressed into a thin line. "Of course they knew. But the owners told the rangers to keep letting guests in. Money over lives. Classic."
The glass flared again. Ming Sulin followed the glow toward the desk.
Nancy, clumsy as ever, leaned against it and knocked over a stack of supplies. Something thin slipped free, fluttering to the ground.
A folded sheet of paper.
Nancy picked it up, blinking. "Uh… this yours?"
Ming Sulin snatched it before anyone else could see. She unfolded it slowly, the magnifying glass humming against her palm.
The ink was shaky, the handwriting rushed:
"Stop sending them. The woods aren't safe. We can't control it anymore. They're everywhere. The campers don't come back. Don't come looking for me."
Nancy's throat went dry. "That… wasn't in the guest brochure."
Ming Sulin smirked, holding the note up to the flickering firelight. "Guess the dungeon just gave us the director's cut."
The Little Black Book twitched faintly at her side, as if amused.
"Of course you think it's funny," she muttered to it.
The others leaned in, faces pale. The silence stretched heavy, broken only by the sound of the wind scraping branches against the cabin roof.
Finally, Ming Sulin pocketed the paper. "Alright. Now we know this place was a slaughterhouse long before we got trapped here. Makes sense. Doesn't change anything."
Nancy swallowed. "What do we do?"
Ming Sulin's grin flashed sharp. "We do what we always do. We survive. And if the dungeon wants to throw breadcrumbs at me, I'll follow them straight to its throat."