Amadeo's heart pounded in his chest as he stared at Cecil, the words still echoing in his head. "She's already dead." He wanted to believe it was a lie, a cruel joke, but something about Cecil's calm, almost bored tone left a sinking feeling in his gut.
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, his mind racing in every direction. He had just discovered Elle's location and was only moments away from reaching her, but now, with Cecil's words hanging in the air like a heavy fog, doubt began to creep in.
"I'll go check on her," Amadeo muttered, his voice low and tense.
But Cecil didn't stop him. Instead, he just smiled that knowing, unsettling smile of his. "Go ahead," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "But don't say I didn't warn you."
The tension was suffocating, but Amadeo forced himself to keep moving. He couldn't stop now. He had to find Elle.He's the reason she is caught in this mess. If she hadn't saved her that day,her life would've been unbothered.
With each step taken towards the glass room he blamed himself for everything.
As he pushed open the door to the dimly lit room where Elle had been held, a wave of dread washed over him. The room was eerily silent. The only sound was the faint hum of the flickering overhead light. Amadeo's heart skipped a beat as he surveyed the empty space. The chair was still there, its legs scratched into the worn wooden floor, the mirror reflecting nothing but the cold emptiness.
Elle was gone.
His breath hitched in his throat as he took a step inside, searching for any sign of her. The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of something he couldn't quite grasp. He called her name out softly, his voice trembling with a mix of desperation and confusion.
No answer.
Nothing.
There was nothing to explain where she had gone, or how she had disappeared.
She was here. She had to be here.
Amadeo's mind raced as he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. But then his eyes caught something—a small detail that sent a chill running down his spine.
The walls.
There was something written on them. The faintest scratch marks, barely visible but there all the same. Amadeo stepped closer, crouching down to inspect it. His eyes narrowed as he deciphered the jagged scrawl.
"The girl before you didn't make it."
His stomach twisted into knots. The words seemed to hold a weight far beyond their simple meaning, the implication hanging in the air like a bad omen.
A sudden shiver ran through him, and for a moment, he couldn't shake the feeling that something—or someone—was watching him. He turned quickly, scanning the room once more, but there was no sign of Elle. Just emptiness.
She's already dead.
Cecil's words replayed in his mind. Was that the truth? Was Elle dead? The thought made his blood run cold. He refused to believe it, refused to accept that she was gone, but the longer he stood there, the more uncertain he became. It was as if the very walls of the room were closing in on him, twisting his thoughts, blurring the lines between reality and something darker.
Amadeo's breath came faster now, and he clutched at his phone. He needed to hear from Elle. He needed something, anything, to reassure him that she was still out there, still alive.
His fingers moved quickly as he unlocked the screen, and just as he did, the phone buzzed in his hand. A message.
Amadeo's heart skipped a beat.
It was from Elle. He stared at the screen, unable to process what he was seeing.
Elle – the sender's name flickered in his mind. But what stopped him in his tracks was the image attached.
It was a photo. A blurry, distorted image of himself.
Standing outside the very den he had just entered.
The realization hit him like a freight train.
Someone was watching him. Someone was playing this game, pulling strings, controlling everything.
His pulse quickened, his mind spinning with the implications of the message. Elle... how did she know where he was? How could she send this?
But as his mind raced with unanswered questions, a new wave of panic hit him. He had to find her. He had to get to her before it was too late.
Amadeo's fingers gripped the phone so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His gaze darted around the room, searching for any clue that might explain what was happening. The walls, the mirror, the chair—all of it seemed to be mocking him, a cruel reminder of just how far he had fallen into this twisted game.
She's already dead...
Cecil's voice echoed in his mind again. But Amadeo refused to let that be the truth. Elle had to be alive. She had to be.
He turned abruptly, his eyes landing on the empty doorway. But something felt off. The silence was suffocating. The air, thick with an unspoken tension, seemed to hold its breath, waiting for something.
And then it came. The faintest whisper, barely audible, but there all the same.
Not all heroes survive their stories.
Amadeo's blood ran cold. It was Elle's voice, distorted and faint, but unmistakable.
She was out there. She had to be.
And yet, everything in him screamed that this was far from over. That there was still so much more to this game than he could possibly understand.
He glanced back at the phone, the image of himself still staring back at him. His heart thudded in his chest as he stood there, rooted to the spot.
Someone was watching. Someone was playing. And the game wasn't over.