Chapter 16

“Sometimes the exit is just a new cage. Only without the locks.”

We sat at the table. In silence. Before us lay the map, where the third light continued to blink. It wasn’t moving. Or perhaps it was moving too slowly to be noticed. But it hadn’t gone out.

Thomas leaned forward, narrowing his eyes:

“Is that… Lia?”

“Or Joe,” I said. “Or… someone we failed to notice.”

And then the map blinked. The contours of the labyrinth shifted. It was as if another blueprint lay beneath the map. Deeper. More complex. New corridors appeared. New levels.

The labyrinth was growing.

“What level is that?” Thomas whispered.

I rose slowly. I walked over to the window. There was light out there. And seemingly — a landscape. A lake. A forest. Air. Birds.

“It’s an illusion,” I said. “It shows us what we want to see.”

I approached the glass and touched it with my fingers.

It didn’t vibrate. But it wasn’t real either.

Thomas came to stand beside me.

“Did they give us a break room?”

“Or it’s an observation post. For those who ‘passed’.”

We remained silent. The map continued to shift, like the skin of a living creature.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

“If someone else is still down there — we can’t just sit here.”

“And what if that’s exactly why they left us here?” Thomas asked. “To make us watch, not interfere. To make us… part of their game?”

“Then I’d rather break the rules.”

He looked at me, and there was pain in his gaze. Fear. But determination too.

I stepped up to a panel on the wall. It held a multitude of buttons. Some glowed. Some were dark. And one — pulsed. Directly beneath it was an inscription:

“Open lower level. Not recommended.”

I pressed it.

The corridor that opened in the floor led downward — to where the labyrinth no longer pretended. Neither with light, nor with form. Here — everything was bare intent.

A staircase made of rusty metal. Damp walls.

The feeling that someone was close by, but not in body. In consciousness.

The labyrinth knew we had returned.

“Why are you doing this?” Thomas asked.

“Because I made a choice. Otherwise, it doesn’t count.”

We descended. The water reached our knees. Then our waists. Then — it vanished. Dry again. Another room.

Inside it — a letter.

Not written on paper. It was spelled out by water on the floor.

“You returned. Why?”

I looked down. No answer was required.

The water formed the next question:

“Will you choose again? Even if someone suffers for it?”

I didn’t know who was writing. Or what.

But I answered:

“Only if it isn’t a choice, but a hope.”

The water disappeared.

The path led us into a space resembling a school gymnasium. It was empty. On the floor lay a single person.

Lia.

She was unconscious. Pale. Her lips were bluish. But she was alive.

I rushed over to her; Thomas ran for the first aid kit.

“Lia… can you hear me? It’s Miranda. Everything is fine. Everything is already—”

And right then, Lia opened her eyes.

But Lia wasn’t inside them.

“She’s… not alone,” Thomas whispered.

Lia’s eyes moved unnaturally. Her pupils — it was as if they reflected mirrors instead of light.

“Miranda,” Lia said, “you shouldn’t have come back.”

“I couldn’t do otherwise.”

“Then now, you are part of me.”

The light went out.

The floor gave way beneath us.

The labyrinth closed the door.