The room had changed.
The chandelier's red light pulsed overhead, like a slow heartbeat. Shadows twisted in the corners. The air itself felt heavier, thick with tension, like something just beneath the surface was watching — waiting.
At the center of the room, the dice still glowed faintly with their symbols:
Eye. Flame.
On the floor, Jonah's body lay unnaturally still — a silent, horrific reminder of what happened when someone broke the rules.
"Game one..." Marcus read the words again aloud from the empty air. "Reveal what you see — or burn in silence."
"What does that mean?" Belle asked, her voice barely holding together. She was still crouched near Jonah, her trembling hand clutched around his now cold fingers. "What do we see? Where are we supposed to look?"
The voice didn't answer.
Instead, the room did.
With a deep rumble, the floorboards creaked outward in a perfect circle. From the center, six wooden chairs rose, each one elegant and old — like something carved centuries ago. They settled into place with a soft thud, like they'd always belonged there.
Each chair bore a symbol from the dice: the Eye, the Flame, the Snake, the Clock, the Hand, and the Key. Only two glowed faintly now — the Eye and the Flame — casting soft pulses of light on the polished floor.
The others waited. Dormant.
"Someone has to sit," Ava said quietly.
"No," Tasha said quickly, shaking her head. "We don't even know the rules. This could kill us."
"Everything in this place could kill us," Daniel snapped. "At least this gives us a chance to control something."
"To pretend we control something," Maya muttered from the back, arms crossed tightly across her chest. "We don't even know who's making the rules."
Off to the side, three students huddled in whispered conversation — Dax, all sharp edges and distrust; Nadia, whose silence was a weapon; and Reuben, who hadn't stopped pacing since they entered the house.
"She rolled both dice," Dax muttered, jerking his chin at Ava. "Why should we play her game? She made the move. What if we just... lie?"
Nadia gave him a cold look. "Or what if we trick the others into sitting instead?"
Reuben glanced at the pedestal. "What if we destroy the dice?"
They didn't notice Leah standing nearby, still and silent, half-hidden in the shadows. But Ava noticed. She watched as Leah slowly moved away, slipping down a hallway like smoke.
Daniel stepped up beside Ava. "We need to form a plan."
"A plan for what?"
"To survive," he said. "You rolled. Whether you like it or not, you're the face now. They'll look to you next."
Ava stared at him. "I didn't volunteer."
"No one ever does."
Suddenly, the voice returned. Cold. Inescapable.
"The Eye demands honesty. The Flame demands consequence."
The Eye-symbol chair pulsed, light flaring for a moment — then settling into a slow, rhythmic glow.
Ava instinctively took a step forward.
But the chair didn't move for her.
It moved for Belle.
She screamed as an invisible force yanked her off the floor and dragged her across the room. Her feet kicked out behind her. Her body twisted.
She was dropped — hard — into the Eye chair.
Straps snapped shut across her arms and chest with a finality that silenced the room.
"No!" Tasha cried. "Stop it, let her go!"
A wall behind Belle shimmered. A mirror appeared — but not one that showed their reflections.
It played a memory.
Belle stood alone in a hallway — months ago — clearly from their school. She looked around, then opened someone's locker. Her fingers moved fast. She pulled something out: a small prescription bottle.
Gasps rippled across the room.
"You stole from Liana," someone whispered.
Belle shook her head frantically. "No—I didn't—it was just—I was going to give it back!"
"Lies burn."
The Flame-symbol chair lit up next — but not with ordinary fire. It pulsed with blinding, unnatural light. White-hot. Silent and searing.
Belle screamed.
Not from pain — but from exposure. From shame.
Every breath she took came with a sob. Her eyes shut tight, her face contorted with guilt.
Then — just as quickly — the light vanished.
The flame died.
The Eye chair loosened. Belle slumped forward, shaking. Her sobs filled the silence.
But she was alive.
The voice again. Final. Unfeeling.
"One survives the Eye.
The next may not."
A chill spread through the group.
The game wasn't over.
The chairs hadn't moved.
And neither had the door with the eye-shaped handle.
"Wait," Marcus whispered. "More than one person has to go through this?"
"It's not a single-player game," Ava said. "It's... waves."
"Then who's next?" Maya asked.
The Eye glowed again.
But this time, so did the Flame.
Two chairs. Both pulsing.
The air turned warmer. Heavier.
Ava's stomach twisted.
Then — without warning — Reuben screamed.
His body lifted off the floor like Belle's had — but instead of the Eye, he was thrown into the Flame chair.
He didn't get a chance to resist.
The straps slammed down, sealing him in.
The mirror shifted again.
A new scene.
Reuben was in a classroom, sliding a folder into his bag while the teacher's back was turned. Inside: test answer sheets.
He'd cheated.
Someone cursed under their breath.
"No—no—please, I didn't even use them!" Reuben begged, his voice cracking. "I was going to bring them back!"
The chair answered for him.
The light flared.
This time, it was hotter. Brighter.
He screamed louder than Belle.
His body jerked. Twitched.
Then fell still.
The light faded.
Reuben slumped in the chair.
Smoke curled from his shirt.
His skin was flushed red — burned, but not fatally. Not yet.
He was breathing.
Barely.
The straps released.
He didn't move.
Maya rushed forward with Dax, helping lift him out. His eyes fluttered, unfocused.
"He's alive," Dax said. "But... he won't be for long."
The room didn't care.
It had already chosen again.
The chairs glowed.
Three this time.
Snake. Clock. Eye.
The rules were accelerating.
Ava turned to the others, voice low, heart pounding.
"This isn't about justice," she said. "It's control. Shame. Division. It wants us to turn on each other."
Marcus shook his head. "It already worked."
In the far corner, Leah reappeared — this time whispering urgently to Nadia.
Ava narrowed her eyes.
A side was forming.
And not hers.
The dice had done more than start a game.
They'd drawn the first line in the sand.
And betrayal was coming.