Heather’s shout ripped across the air like a live wire snapping.

Caleb jerked his head toward her on instinct, flashlight beam swinging wide, crowbar lifting automatically in his other hand.

She was just—
standing there.
Screaming at nothing.

Again.

Caleb exhaled slowly through his nose, tightening his grip on the crowbar so he didn’t hurl it into the nearest wall out of sheer frustration.

"Again with this shit?" he muttered under his breath, not loud enough for anyone but himself to hear.

If she could just keep it together for five goddamn minutes—
maybe they wouldn’t all end up dead in a mall basement straight out of a cursed Goosebumps special.

But then—

Heather’s voice cracked lower, broken around the edges.

"The whispers are back."

And just like that, the irritation curdled into something heavier.
Something colder.

Caleb didn’t say a word.
Didn’t make a sound.

He just watched—silent and steady—as Alice Mae moved in.

She touched Heather’s arm lightly—steadying, grounding—and murmured something Caleb couldn’t hear.
Didn’t need to.

Heather jerked slightly under the touch, breathing hard, but she didn’t bolt.
Didn’t break.

Caleb shifted his stance subtly, adjusting the flashlight to free up his crowbar grip again.

He scanned the dark automatically, the habits built bone-deep by now:
Check the perimeter.
Watch the exits.
Count the bodies.

One idiot screaming at ghosts.
One stone-cold Sunnyvale girl holding her together.
One defiant Max, braced at the edge like she could hold the world back with sheer stubbornness.

And him.

The backup plan.
The line they couldn’t afford to lose.

Caleb rolled his shoulders once, easy, loose.

Then he turned—angling toward Max, flashlight dropping slightly to keep the beam tight and focused.

"We got this?" he asked—low, calm, no panic in it.

Because they had to.

Because the two idiots crawling around in the dark below them—
the ones who hadn’t made a goddamn sound since dropping out of sight—
needed them to.

Max didn’t answer right away.
Didn’t even glance at him at first.

Just kept her eyes locked on the tunnel, body tense, breathing steady.

Finally, she nodded once.

Small. Sharp. Unbreakable.

Caleb let out a breath, slow and controlled, and tightened his fingers around the crowbar.

If something came clawing up out of that hole—
if the dark wanted a fight—

they were ready to give it one.

Heather’s shout ripped through the stale air like a blade.

It rattled all of them—Caleb snapping toward her with a grunt of disbelief, Alice Mae stepping in fast and sharp, tension snapping tight between them like a stretched wire about to fray.

Max didn’t move at first.

Didn’t flinch.

She just watched.

Heather stood there—red-faced, trembling, fists balled so tight her gloves creaked—and something inside her had cracked wide open.
Not fear this time.

Not panic.

Fight.

Max saw it clear as daylight—
the way Heather shook but didn’t fold,
the way she cursed the darkness back to hell with nothing but her voice,
the way she pressed a hand to her ribs like she could remember who she was if she pressed hard enough.

Max felt something pull in her chest.

Not pity.
Not concern.

Respect.

Real, hard-earned, blood-and-teeth respect.

It was one thing to survive Shadyside by running.
By ducking your head, by praying the bad luck passed you by.

It was another thing entirely to stand up when the darkness whispered your name and called you dead already.

Heather stood.

Even if her whole body shook with it.

Max angled slightly toward her without thinking—subtle, instinctive—shifting her weight to cover the space between them a little more, like she could absorb any blow meant for her if it came.

She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

The dark was still breathing against their skin, heavy and wet and waiting.

But Heather breathed back now—loud, ragged, alive.

Max’s mouth tightened into something almost like a smile.

Tiny. Fierce.
Gone in a blink.

When Caleb muttered, “We got this?”
Max didn’t hesitate.

She flicked a glance at Heather—chest heaving, fists steady.

At Alice Mae—shoulders squared, eyes sharp.

At Caleb—crowbar in hand, loose and ready.

Then back to the mouth of the tunnel.

Waiting.

“Yeah,” Max muttered under her breath, voice low and sure, more a promise than a command.

“We’ve got this.”

And if the dark didn’t believe them—

Max would make it.

For half a second, the whole world balanced on a knife’s edge.

Heather, trembling and furious, fists clenched like she could punch the dark straight out of the air.
Max, braced solid at the edge of the tunnel, not loud, not flashy, just there—unbreakable in a way Alice Mae couldn’t help but notice.
Caleb, loose and ready, crowbar swinging low in his grip, already betting his life that Max would hold the line if it broke.

And her.

Standing a half-step out, caught between instinct and choice.

Every muscle in Alice Mae’s body screamed to cut and run.
To grab Caleb by the arm, shove Heather toward the exit, drag Max kicking and screaming if she had to.

Because this place wasn’t just wrong.

It was hungry.

The kind of wrong you didn’t fight.
The kind of wrong you didn’t survive if you stayed too long.

But Heather’s voice—
raw and vicious, tearing at the silence like it owed her something—

and Max’s voice—
quiet, brutal, promising not just survival but defiance—

they changed something.

Not loud.
Not dramatic.

Just… real.

Alice Mae swallowed hard, feeling the weight of it settle under her skin like a second heartbeat.

This wasn’t just bad luck.
This wasn’t just cursed history.

This was a war.
And you didn’t survive wars by running solo.

You survived them by standing with the ones willing to bleed beside you.

Alice Mae shifted her stance slightly—subtle, practiced—bringing her flashlight higher, realigning her body to cover Heather’s left side without saying a word.
If something came out of that pit, Heather wasn’t going to face it alone.

Neither was Max.
Neither was Caleb.

Neither was she.

Alice Mae’s jaw tightened as she squared her shoulders, feeling the fear lodge itself deep but manageable inside her ribs.

This wasn’t Sunnyvale anymore.

There were no trophies for surviving pretty.

Only scars for surviving at all.

Her fingers flexed once against the flashlight.

Fine.

If the dark wanted them—

it better be ready to lose.

The second the dark shifted behind them, Benji ran.

No warning.
No plan.

Just pure, wired instinct screaming Move.

His boots hit the dirt hard, kicking up dust and loose pebbles, flashlight beam slamming wild across the walls as he sprinted for the ladder.

Eli was at his shoulder instantly—silent, fast, knife gleaming dully under the jerky swing of their lights.

The tunnel groaned around them, the sound deep and wet and wrong—
like the stone itself was breathing.
Like the ground under their feet wanted to open up and swallow them whole.

Benji didn’t look back.

Didn’t need to.

The cold was crawling up his spine faster now—slick and clawing, dragging greedy fingers across his ribs.

Something shifted just out of range of his light.
Fast. Low. Wrong.

He shoved harder with his legs, burning every ounce of strength in his body to keep moving.

The ladder came into view—
a crooked silhouette against the sickly sliver of light filtering down from the mall above.

Benji locked onto it like a lifeline.

Almost there.

Almost—

A shape peeled itself from the dark.

Benji caught it half-formed in the corner of his vision—
long, broken-limbed, dragging itself across the wall like it didn’t remember how to be human anymore.

He didn’t stop to stare.

Didn’t hesitate.

He barreled forward, shoulder slamming into the ladder with enough force to rattle the bolts loose.

Benji gritted his teeth, grabbed the first rung, and shoved himself upward.

The metal groaned under his weight—old, rusted, ready to tear free—but he didn’t slow down.

Not with that thing behind him.

Not with Heather’s name still fresh on the wall.

Not with the promise he hadn’t even spoken yet burning under his skin:

Not her.
Not this time.

He hauled himself up another rung, muscles screaming, lungs burning.

Somewhere below, he heard Eli hit the ladder too—the low, rough scrape of boots, the grunt of weight shifting fast.

The dark shrieked behind them—

high and wet and furious.

Benji didn’t dare look.

He just climbed.

Hand over hand, rung after rattling rung, the mall ceiling growing fractionally closer with every desperate pull.

Above, a shape leaned over the grate—
flashlight beam swinging wildly—
Max.

Max, braced like she could drag him up by sheer force of will if she had to.

Benji locked his jaw, shoved his body harder, and kept climbing.

Because there was no other option.

Because if he didn’t get back—

Heather was next.

For half a heartbeat, Eli hesitated.

Not from fear.

From calculation.

The ground shuddered faintly under his boots—
not an earthquake.
Something worse.
Something alive.

The dark behind them bloomed wide and wet and furious, rushing up their backs like a second heartbeat turned inside out.

Benji bolted first.

Eli followed.

No orders.
No plan.
Just the only choice that mattered.

He pivoted sharp and hard, boots scraping against the dirt floor as he took off after Benji—
silent, fast, his flashlight beam slashing sideways as he moved.

The air thickened instantly—
heavy, slick, dragging at his limbs like tar.
The stench of blood and rust and something fouler clawed at his throat.

Still, he ran.

Kept half an eye over his shoulder even as he sprinted—
because he’d rather see what was about to kill him than let it carve into his back.

But there was nothing there.

Just shadow.

Just wrongness.

Just the sound of breath that wasn’t his slithering through the air behind them.

The tunnel twisted—left, right, narrowing—and Eli forced his body harder, faster.

Benji’s flashlight wobbled ahead, jerky and wild, catching the broken silhouette of the ladder against the low, crumbling ceiling.

Thank God.

Benji reached it first—hit the rungs like a battering ram, climbing fast, metal groaning and shuddering under the strain.

Eli slammed into the ladder half a second later, boots scraping hard against the dirt.

He paused only long enough—
just a flick of his head back.

Not to look for what was chasing.

To make sure it hadn’t already caught them.

The dark gaped empty behind him—
but it breathed—
it watched—
it waited.

Eli ground his teeth and shoved upward—
hand over hand, hauling himself into the crumbling mouth of the mall’s dying heart.

Below, something shrieked.

High. Wet. Furious.

Real.

Or not.

It didn’t matter.

They weren’t staying to find out.

The ladder rattled under both their weights, bolts groaning and flecks of rust snowing down with every desperate pull.

Above—
a slash of wild light, a silhouette braced hard against the edge—
Max.

Max, ready to yank them back to the living if she had to.

Benji climbed faster, driven by something furious and feral.

Eli kept pace—
silent.
Focused.
Breath burning in his chest like ice.

There was no room left for fear.
No room for hesitation.

Just the thin, broken ladder.
Just the cold teeth of the dark licking at their heels.

And the promise—
silent, violent, absolute:

Not today.
Not them.

The second a hand broke through the lip of the tunnel, Heather moved.

No hesitation.

No thought.

She dropped to her knees hard enough to bruise, scraping her palms against the rough concrete as she lunged forward—grabbing for Benji’s wrist, hauling him up with more desperation than strength.

He scrambled the last few feet, boots skidding against the edge, fingers locking tight into hers like he needed her to tether him back to the world.

The second he was free of the dark, he collapsed forward—straight into her.

Heather caught him awkwardly, both of them half-crashing to the cold ground, a heap of ragged breath and shaking limbs.

For a second—
just a second—
she didn’t care who was watching.

She curled into him fiercely, arms tight around his neck, forehead pressing hard into his shoulder like she could brand him alive with sheer will.

"You jerk,” she muttered, voice muffled and trembling against his jacket. “You absolute, grade-A, selfish asshole. Making me worry like that.”

Benji let out a rough exhale—part laugh, part sob—and buried his face against the curve of her neck, fingers fisting tight into the back of her jacket like he couldn’t tell if he was still falling.

The ground vibrated again—a soft, sick tremor—and Eli’s boots slammed against the edge as he hauled himself out behind them, landing solid and silent like a shadow finally unspooling from the dark.

Heather barely registered it.

For a second, there was nothing but Benji.
His heartbeat hammering wild against hers.
The cold stink of the tunnels still clinging to his skin.
The sheer, electric relief of him alive, here, real.

She pulled back slightly, just enough to see his face.

And froze.

Because Benji was looking at her—

not the way he usually did.
Not with mischief or affection or that stupid half-smirk that made her want to kiss and punch him all at once.

This look—
this one—

was cracked.

Hollow.

Like he was already mourning her.

Heather’s stomach twisted, sharp and cold.

A chill spidered up her spine, colder than anything the tunnels had spat out.

She blinked at him—breathless, caught—and before she could stop herself, the words slipped out:

“Why are you looking at me like you’ve already seen my ghost?”

Soft.
Curious.
Broken wide open.

Benji’s mouth parted—like he was about to speak.
About to explain.

But the mall groaned deep beneath them—
a slow, awful sound like something shifting under the weight of a hundred forgotten sins.

And the moment shattered.

Heather dragged her fingers tighter into the front of his jacket—
still clinging, still furious, still alive.

But somewhere inside her chest,
something cracked open too.

Something she didn’t know how to name yet.
Something the dark already had a name for.

Caleb didn’t move at first.

Didn’t even blink.

He just stood there, crowbar loose in one hand, Maglite beam locked steady on the edge of the tunnel, watching.

Waiting.

Benji broke through first—half-shoved, half-dragged up by Heather, both of them crashing into a messy, desperate heap on the concrete.

Caleb clocked it.
Didn’t flinch.

Next—
a heavier thud.

Eli hauled himself up clean, boots hitting the ground with a solid scrape, body already turning like he expected to have to fight the dark back up the ladder.

For half a second—
just a hair longer than he was proud of—
Caleb stayed frozen.

Then he breathed.
One shallow inhale.

Counted bodies fast:

Max.
Heather.
Alice Mae.
Benji.
Eli.

Six.

All here.

Still standing.

Still breathing.

Good enough.

Without waiting for discussion—or permission—Caleb stepped forward, shouldering the crowbar higher, and slammed it under the edge of the grate.

It groaned in protest—rusted bolts and warping metal—but Caleb didn’t give it a choice.

He grunted low under his breath, muscles straining, and heaved the damn thing back into place.

The heavy clang echoed through the mall like a gunshot, rattling down dead corridors and bouncing off empty storefronts.

Sealing whatever the hell they'd stirred up back where it belonged.
For now.

Caleb braced a boot against the concrete and jammed the edge tighter, just to be sure.

He didn’t trust it.
Not for a second.
But it was better than standing around with their asses hanging out.

He wiped a grimy hand down the front of his jeans, exhaling slow.

Then he turned, crowbar swinging lazily over one shoulder, and surveyed the group—
Heather still clinging to Benji like she might physically fight the universe if it tried to take him again.
Alice Mae hovering close, flanking them with sharp, silent defiance.
Max standing solid, but the twitch in her jaw said she was two seconds from throwing herself back into the pit if she had to.
Eli—silent, steady, eyes darker than Caleb had ever seen them.

A real party.

Caleb raised an eyebrow, deadpan.

"Not to kill the vibe or anything," he drawled, "but maybe we save the group hugs and trauma bonding for somewhere that doesn't feel like it’s actively trying to eat us?"

Max shot him a look—half exasperated, half relieved.

Benji let out a rough, choked laugh against Heather’s hair.

Alice Mae cracked the ghost of a grin.

Even Eli’s mouth twitched, barely.

Caleb shrugged, loose and easy, but kept the crowbar ready in his grip.

Because joking or not—

if this place wanted a second round?

They were ready.

The clang of the grate echoed through her bones.

Max didn’t flinch.
Didn’t move.
Just stood there, breathing slow through her nose as Caleb jammed the rusted thing back into place like he could hammer the darkness shut for good.

It wouldn’t hold.
She knew that.

But it bought them seconds.

Maybe minutes.

And right now, that was enough.

The silence that followed was brutal—heavy and twitching, like the mall itself was holding its breath.

Max scanned them one by one:

Benji—slumped against Heather, shaking in that way only someone who just barely survived shakes. His eyes wild, his face open and raw in a way she’d never seen before.
Heather—curled into him like a shield and a promise all at once, rage humming under her skin so loud Max could feel it from here.
Eli—stone-still, not breathing like the rest of them, just watching, like he hadn’t let go of the fight yet.
Alice Mae—silent, lips pressed in a flat line, her stance angled protectively but her eyes scanning for the next threat already.
Caleb—crowbar slung casual, but his knuckles were white.

They were all rattled.

Max was too.

She just didn’t have the luxury of showing it.

Caleb cracked a joke—dry, grim, perfectly timed.
It scattered the tension like glass, just for a second.

Benji laughed. Heather didn’t.
Alice Mae almost smiled.
Eli didn’t blink.

Max didn’t laugh either.

But she felt the snap inside her unwind a little.

She let her flashlight drop slightly, casting a jagged halo of light around their battered circle.

And she said nothing.

Because there was nothing left to say that would matter.

Not yet.

Instead, she stepped forward.
Just one step.
Enough to make a point.

Her voice, when it came, was low. Even.

“Nobody splits up. Not again.”

It wasn’t a request.

Max looked each of them dead in the eye—Benji first, then Heather, then the others—slow, steady, silent.

Then she nodded toward the mall doors.

“Let’s move.”

She turned without waiting for agreement.

If they wanted to fall apart, they could do it somewhere safer.

Somewhere the floor didn’t breathe.

Somewhere the walls didn’t whisper names they weren’t supposed to know.

But until then—

she would lead.

Even if her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Even if her name ended up carved next.

“Let’s move,” Max said.

No debate. No softness.

Just the tone of someone who’d already decided what came next.

Alice Mae watched her turn—tall and lean and frayed at the edges, like someone held together with tension and adrenaline and sheer, unshakable will.

And for the first time since this whole mess began,
Alice Mae felt something settle under her ribs.

Not trust.
Not yet.

But the shape of it.

She shifted slightly, falling into step without needing to be told. The others followed suit—some slower than others.

Benji peeled himself off the ground first, helped more by Heather’s stubborn grip than his own strength. His eyes were distant, body moving like it hadn’t quite decided if it belonged here yet.

Heather stuck close, chin high, jaw locked, practically vibrating with the effort not to unravel in front of them all.

Eli didn’t say a word.
Just moved when Max moved.
Shadow and muscle and a knife still tucked where it belonged.

Caleb followed last—crowbar slung casual again, but his eyes never stopped moving. Neither did his fingers, twitching like they were counting exits with every step.

Alice Mae took rear flank without thinking.
Not because she didn’t trust Max.
Because someone had to watch the back.

She kept her flashlight low, sweeping the shadows at the corners of the mall as they passed broken kiosks and shuttered storefronts.
Her boots echoed faintly against the tile.
No one spoke.

The silence was tight now.
Pressed between them like glass.
Cracked but not shattered.

Alice Mae flicked her eyes forward again—toward Max’s shoulders, squared and forward-facing, like she didn’t care how badly she was shaking.

She respected that.
Respected the hell out of it.

Max hadn’t asked to lead.

But she was doing it anyway.

And Alice Mae, for once, wasn’t inclined to fight her.

They were walking on borrowed time.
They all knew it.

But for now—
they walked together.

And that mattered more than she wanted to admit.

His legs moved.

He wasn’t sure how.

The mall shifted around them in broken silence—flickering exit signs, cracked tiles, old gum stuck to the soles of his boots.

Heather walked beside him—close, steady, still brushing his arm every couple steps like she didn’t trust him not to vanish.

He didn’t blame her.

Benji felt like a ghost in his own skin.

Each breath burned sharp against the back of his throat.
His flashlight hung useless at his side, barely catching the edges of Max’s silhouette ahead.

Max, who hadn’t flinched.
Max, who just kept going.
Max, who turned into a warpath when things went sideways and somehow expected them all to fall in line.

And they did.

Because what else were they supposed to do?

He glanced behind him once—Eli trailing like smoke, gaze razor-sharp, unreadable.
Alice Mae bringing up the rear, steps quiet but deliberate.

Caleb had fallen into rhythm too, crowbar still swinging like a threat and a shield all at once.

They looked fine.

Or they looked functional.

Benji wasn’t sure which was worse.

His gaze flicked sideways.

Heather.

Still breathing.
Still furious.
Still gripping the edge of herself like she could hold it all together if she just stayed angry enough.

God, he loved her.

It hit like a bruise when he let himself think it too hard.

She hadn’t seen it.

She didn’t know.

Didn’t know her name was already carved into the bones of the town, buried with the rest of the monsters, written in stone like it was destiny.

And he hadn’t told her.

Couldn’t.

Not yet.

Not while her fingers kept brushing his arm, not while she kept looking at him like he was solid, like he’d made her real again just by climbing back up that ladder.

His stomach twisted.

The guilt tasted like rust.

He swallowed it back down.

Now wasn’t the time.

Now was never the time.

Benji blinked, breathing harder than he meant to, pulse thudding behind his eyes.

He forced himself forward—step after step—shadows shifting on either side.

But the wall stayed with him.

The names.
The carvings.
The last one burned deepest of all.

Heather Goodwin.

Benji clenched his fists so hard his knuckles cracked.

He would find a way to stop it.

He had to.

Or he’d die trying.