I learned that playing by the rules only brings you so far, and the ones who made it furthest in the office were the ones who bent those rules to suit them.
I learned to do the same.
And no one ever noticed the books didn’t add up.
It was what I had to do, I thought, if I ever wanted a life like Liva’s or Zac’s, with enough money to throw at problems and the ability to afford a second home. But the cabin doesn’t look like a rich, welcoming place anymore. It keeps growing colder and darker.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this does happen to people like us. Or maybe it does happen to people like Liva.
I glance at Liva’s room, which is still empty and filled with shadows.
I didn’t wish this on her. Did I?
I definitely wouldn’t wish it on myself, in any case. I have to keep my head down, grab Maddy’s pills, and run back out.
I reach out to the handle and push her door open—and pause.
In the dim light of the hallway, something glimmers in front of the door next to Maddy’s room—my door. I blink and stare, thinking at first it’s a trick of my eyes or my brain, but when I stare, the shimmer is still there. And the door is ever so slightly cracked, allowing moonlight to filter out.
I take a careful step closer and reach down as far as I can. I don’t want to kneel or crouch because it would leave me vulnerable. I don’t want to be curious. But I am.
The wood is rough and splintered, and my fingers catch on it. Until my fingers touch the wet substance, and moonlight illuminates the ward in front of me.
Because it is a ward, exactly like the ones Ever has so often described in the game. Like the ones around the fake body we played with. Endless symbols, drawn in blood.
No. Nope. Absolutely not.
I want this twisted and messy game to be over. I want to go back to the time before. I want this not to be happening.
The moment I take a step back from the door, a shadow passes through the moonlight. Fleeting. Indistinct. A darkness in an already dark night. A bat or a curtain. A tree branch or a person.
Does it matter? Does it matter what’s out there if we don’t get out of here tonight?
A floorboard groans. I spin around, but nothing. I push my door open farther, to let more light filter in, but the light does nothing. Almost as though the shadows are too plentiful here to be turned away.
The wind outside sighs. The wardrobe creaks. Then another shadow, and one of the curtains tumbles down from near the window, scattering coins all over the floor. They’re rolling toward me like they did when they fell out of my cloak, and it’s like a nightmare.
Like being haunted by your worst decisions.
I’ve had enough. I’m done.
Maddy will have to do without her pills. We have to get out, now. I have to get out.
In my room, the mattress bounces. The bed springs squeak as if someone sat down.
And my feet remain frozen by panic and fear.
All I can see is my overly big suitcase, which is nothing more than a silent shadow. The coins on the floor are still rolling and spinning happily.
I’m convinced, I’m convinced, if I hold my breath I can still hear someone breathing.
Fingers pass through my hair.
My heart slams into my throat.
I take a step back, in the direction of the stairs, pushing myself close to the wall. I reach out to steady myself, and I turn to bolt.
“You’re making things up again,” I whisper to myself. “There’s no one here.”
“Wrong.”
Here’s what no one has told you, what no one will tell you. To you, this world is real. The game master weaves it around you. It’s the greatest gift they can give you. They build the game. They are the game. They tweak and push and tease and draw out, to let every person who is a part of it have their challenge, to let every player shine. They create sorrow and joy and heartbreak.
But that world shivers and crumbles. Sometimes, when the game twists in unexpected ways, even the best game master can be caught off guard, and they keep the world together with well-placed words and imaginary duct tape. Sometimes, when you all lose focus, the rules fall by the wayside, and they’re like tears in the fabric of that reality.
And some days, like today, the worst happens. And parts of the world crumble and break.
And the game master does too.
Sixteen
Maddy
“Maddy? C’mon, we need you to be here. For Carter. For us.” Ever’s soft voice helps me to get my breathing under control, but the restlessness inside me doesn’t dissipate. My heart beats too loud in my ears. My hands are shaking, and my whole body has tensed to the point of pain and exhaustion. As if I’ve run a marathon—or as if I’ve run for my life. And I’m still in flight mode.
I need to understand. I just want to understand.
“Maddy.” Ever keeps their voice low. Soothing. Like they’re talking to a cat. “Listen to me. Focus on my voice. What do you see?”
Their hand, hovering above mine. There but not quite touching.
“What do you feel?”
The cold from the porch creep into my bones. The roughness of the wooden planks.
“What do you hear?”
The sound of crickets in the grove somewhere. The wind chimes. Finn and Ever, breathing and worrying.
“What do you smell?”
Pine. Night. My own sweat.
I
