Oh.
Maddy goes quiet. There’s a faraway look in her eyes, and she takes a step back from me and Ever.
“Just you, I think, Finn.”
“What do you mean?”
She hesitates.
I take a step toward her, but she tenses all over, so I keep my distance.
Her mouth works, but nothing comes out, like she’s trying to explain to us what’s happened, but she can’t find the words.
Finally, she says, “It’s just you. Trust me.” Or: Believe me.
I’m not sure I can, but I’ll try. “Do you know what’s happening?”
“No! No, definitely not. I just…don’t think they’ll target me again.”
Again. I want to ask more, and by the looks of it, Ever does too. Maddy sounds suspicious. I trust her, I do. But I can’t shake that discomfort, nor the questions that are coalescing in the back of my mind. There’s something there. I will figure out what it is.
But I set that aside for now. “If I’m supposed to be the final victim,” I say instead, “then we should try to figure out what the plan is.”
At that, all three of us fall silent. Clouds pass in front of the small sickle of moon and cast the world in more shadows. I keep looking at my feet, to ensure I’m sticking to the path. And the night folds itself in on us. The air smells of summer, a scorched, thick, flowery smell. The gravel crunches beneath our feet and the chilled mountain air crawls along my spine.
In the emptiness, no one can hide, but we’re walking down a mountain in the dead of night, and we have no way to defend ourselves.
I feel vulnerable out in the open. I feel vulnerable on this path.
And that’s exactly it. “The boulders,” I say, aghast. “I could barely climb the boulders when we were all going up and there were five of us then. In the dark, on my own, it could kill me.”
Ever frowns. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. As a trap, it makes the most sense and it’s…” They fall silent and shudder.
“What you would do if you were GMing?” I finish. The words leave a sour taste in my mouth. “It’s what I’d expect from any good game design too. Isn’t that twisted?”
Ever shakes their head. “This is definitely not a conversation I ever thought we’d have. But in my experience, players never act as you’d expect in games, especially when you set up impossible challenges. Maybe it’s the same here. Maddy and I are with you, and that will throw a wrench in the plan. We won’t let you fall.” They scratch their head. “I meant that figuratively, by the way, but it might also be true literally.”
“Thanks, I guess.” I keep my voice light. It’s too difficult to wrap my head around everything otherwise.
Maddy doesn’t get that memo, though. She nods solemnly. “We’ll both be able to help you. To get past whatever trap there might be. We’re in this together.”
Mere hours ago, I didn’t trust any of them not to let me fall, and Liva caught me. Now, Ever and Maddy are here, and I need to put my full faith in them. Frankly, this is all so intense that part of me wants to take off and run away for a darker part of the mountain, to hide and not have to deal with the emotions churning in my chest.
“We can also use it to our advantage, the fact that we know what’s coming and that we’re together,” I say. “File this under things I never expected to say, but I’m so tired of running all the time. I’m tired of fleeing, and I’m tired of being afraid, and I’m tired of building walls around myself and not trusting others.” I bite my lip and stare at Ever and Maddy with a kind of helplessness. “I trust you not to let me fall.” I take another deep breath. “And I want this to be over. We need to find who’s doing this, and we need to fight back. If we don’t, we will never be free of it. If we only escape, we will always be looking over our shoulders.”
Ever tilts their head, considering. “I want to know why all of this is happening. I want to know why us.”
“I want to understand,” Maddy puts in. “But I agree with Finn. We can’t keep running. I mean, I assume we could, but I’d rather not be afraid of shadows either. I don’t want to live life waiting for something or someone to jump at me. It’s exhausting enough already dealing with how unpredictable all you neurotypicals are. Let’s not throw mortal danger into the mix.”
“That’s the spirit.” I reach out to pat her back, and this time she doesn’t pull away. “Besides, we know their play now. At least to some extent. Probably. This is our only chance.”
Ever pulls the tattered remains of their cloak closer and takes a step away from both of us, pondering, deciding. They keep their eyes firmly on the absolutely invisible horizon and the mountains that lie beyond us somewhere. They don’t say a word, but a range of emotions passes over them. From uncertainty to the pure anger I saw from them back in the cabin, after they found the recording with Elle’s voice. They breathe through it, though, their hands clenching and unclenching at their side. Their foot drawing some kind of design in the dirt. “I don’t want these to be our only options,” they eventually whisper.
“I don’t think any of us do,” I say gently. “But they are. Or at least, they’re the only two I can see. Fleeing or fighting. I don’t think there’s a third alternative. Not without magic, in any case.”
We keep doing that, somehow. We keep reaching—not for actual magic, but for our game, for the story between us. Because the truth is, if I’m just Finn here, I would’ve broken already. If this were just me and my friends, with no layers
