Chapter 9

“Some doors are opened not with a key, but with pain.”

When I surfaced, the water behind my back slammed with such force that the tremor vibrated through my bones. It was as if the room itself were ejecting me. Behind me lay nothing but darkness and a fading splash. I caught my breath, staring ahead: a long tunnel lit by a flickering glow, as if someone had tried to turn on the lamps but changed their mind. The light blinked. The walls were damp, streaked with moisture, as if the labyrinth… were sweating.

A step. Then another. My feet merged with the wet floor. The steps sounded strange, as though someone were echoing them — with a delay. I turned around.

No one.

But then, suddenly — the sound of water. A splash. Faint, hesitant. Someone had surfaced. Or… something?

I backed away, pressing myself against the wall. The splashing died down, but the feeling of being watched refused to leave. I kept walking — and every turn seemed to shift along with me. The map I held in my memory no longer worked. The routes had vanished. Or perhaps they had never existed at all.

I rounded another corner. A room — circular, flooded with ankle-deep water. In the center stood a mirror. I stepped closer.

And I didn’t see myself.

The face in the reflection was familiar to me. Far too familiar. It was… mine, but different. Deep circles ringed the eyes. The lips were blue, as if from the cold. And the eyes… empty. The face stared at me with pity.

“Who are you?” I breathed.

The reflection repeated:

“Who are you?”

But the voice wasn’t mine.

A grinding screech echoed. The water in the room seemed to boil, but not with steam—with anxiety. With panic. And then I heard it.

“Miranda?”

I froze. That voice… I knew it. But it wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Who is that?” I asked aloud.

From beneath the mirror, a silhouette emerged. Tall. Slanted. As if warped by time. The hair was wet, the face covered by hands. He walked slowly; the water didn’t splash beneath him — it parted.

“You remember me, don’t you?” he whispered.

I stepped back.

“No. No… you can’t be here.”

He lowered his hands.

And I saw his face.

“Erik…” my lips moved on their own.

Erik. A boy who had gone missing a year ago from one of the camps connected to the program. They had searched for him. His name used to hang on the board by the pool. Back then, they said he drowned. But the body was never found.

“I didn’t drown,” he said. “I stayed here.”

“Here?”

He nodded.

“The labyrinth doesn’t let go. It remembers. Some right away. Some — later. But everyone. It doesn’t forgive. And it doesn’t forget.”

I shook my head. “You’re not real. This is a hallucination.”

He smiled. Harshly. Contortedly.

“Hallucinations don’t leave tracks, Miranda.”

I looked down. Beneath my feet were footprints. Wet, distinct. Pressed into the tile like the tracks of a beast. But they weren’t mine.

“You’re next,” he said. “Or first. It all depends on the angle.”

He vanished. Simply… dissolved into thin air. And the mirror cracked right down the center.

I spun around and ran.

The corridors were crooked now. They slithered like flesh under a knife. The water was growing thicker. At times it pulsed, like venous blood. I could feel the labyrinth breathing. Reacting. Trying to speak to me.

And then I realized — we were not alone.

Somewhere nearby, in a side branch, someone was screaming. Not in fear — in fury. As if trying to break through the walls.

“Lia?” I shouted.

But the voice was male.

I dashed toward the sound. Around the corner was a new door. Circular, metal, like a hatch. I pushed it. With effort, it gave way.

Beyond the door was water — thick, murky. And in it — a body.

A boy. About sixteen. Not one of ours. Not from the team.

Around his neck was a collar. Like a dog’s. A chain was fastened to it, stretching deep into the floor. I ran over — he was alive. But his eyes…

His eyes stared into a void. Blood was on his lips. Or was it rust?

“Who are you?” I whispered.

He parted his lips:

“I am… a mistake.”

And he vanished beneath the water, dragged down by the chain, as if into the throat of a monster.

Behind me — movement. Someone was watching.

I whipped around — and for the first time, I understood: the labyrinth was now alive. It wasn’t just testing me. It was starving.

And it didn’t care who you were. The only thing that mattered was that you felt. Pain. Guilt. Panic.

I crawled backward, feeling my body begin to shake.

And then, the labyrinth… smiled.

I didn’t see it, but I felt it. In every vibrating glint off the walls. In every flooded corridor. In every step that no longer felt like my own.

Now, I didn’t know which way was up. Where the exit was. Where “I” was.

I whispered, like a prayer:

“Just forward. Just forward. Just…”

But inside, I already knew: we were in the middle. And the center of the labyrinth holds no answers. Only the truth.

And it — is terrifying.