The raft scraped against solid ground.
Miles was the first to leap off, boots sinking into muddy, oil-slick soil.
He hauled Levi up behind him, then turned, expecting to see Kayla already waiting.
She wasn't.
She was still standing at the far end of the water, staring across at them — just a silhouette in the dying lantern light.
Watching.
Not moving.
Miles' jaw clenched.
He turned his back on her and scanned their surroundings.
The shoreline gave way to a corridor — this one different from the others.
The walls here weren't brick or stone.
They were mirrors.
Cracked, dirty mirrors stretching upward into the blackness, reflecting distorted images of the two men — stretching their faces long, twisting their bodies sideways.
Miles hated mirrors.
He hated what they showed.
Levi wiped water from his eyes and stared around, breathing hard.
"You... you saved me back there," he said, voice raw with disbelief.
Miles grunted. "Wasn't for you."
Levi managed a shaky laugh. "Still. Thanks, man."
Miles didn't answer.
He was already moving forward, muscles tight, senses screaming.
Something was wrong.
Every reflection seemed a second too slow, a beat behind their real movements.
And worse — some didn't move at all.
Some reflections just stood there, staring.
Grinning.
A low mechanical whir filled the air, almost too faint to hear.
Above them, a new monitor blinked to life:
RULE #17: TRUST ONLY WHAT BLEEDS.
Miles frowned.
He barely had time to process it when a voice slithered out of the speakers:
"Welcome, survivors. You've done so well..."
A figure dropped from the ceiling.
Not fell — dropped.
Graceful. Deliberate.
It landed in a crouch between them and the next door.
It stood slowly — seven feet tall, wearing black leather armor stitched together with metal seams.
Its head was encased in a smooth, featureless silver mask, like a blank mirror.
In its hands — twin hooked blades, dripping wet.
Miles and Levi froze.
The thing tilted its head at them.
Then, without warning, it moved.
Fast.
Miles barely ducked the first swipe.
The blade carved a groove into the mirror behind him, sending shards raining down.
Levi stumbled backward, falling hard.
The Hunter — the Mimic Hunter — moved like it had been studying them.
It mirrored Miles' duck.
It mirrored Levi's clumsy stumble.
It learned them as it fought.
Miles rolled sideways, yanking his baton from his belt.
He aimed a sharp jab at the Hunter's knee.
The thing copied the move instantly — aiming the exact same strike back at him, but faster, heavier.
Miles barely blocked in time.
It was copying not just his moves — but his instincts.
The speaker crackled again:
"Defeat your reflection... or be replaced."
The rules twisted in his mind.
Trust only what bleeds.
Miles gritted his teeth, mind racing.
He looked at the Hunter's hands — gloves slick with black liquid — but no real blood.
No wounds.
No human weakness.
Not yet.
Behind him, Levi scrambled to his feet, clutching a broken shard of mirror.
"Miles!" he shouted. "Here!"
The Hunter whirled on Levi.
Miles moved on instinct.
He grabbed the shard from Levi's hand and slashed it across the Hunter's forearm.
The mirror-skin split — and underneath, for just a second, Miles saw it.
Red.
Real blood.
The Hunter recoiled with a hiss like steam escaping a pipe.
It was vulnerable.
It could bleed.
Miles and Levi locked eyes — a silent agreement passing between them.
They attacked together.
Levi swung wild but distracted it — giving Miles the opening to jam the shard into the Hunter's exposed side.
The thing shrieked, dropping to one knee.
The mirrors on the walls shattered simultaneously, raining glass like a storm.
The door ahead buzzed open.
They didn't wait.
Miles grabbed Levi's arm and hauled him through.
Behind them, the Hunter knelt in the ruins of its own reflections, leaking dark blood onto the floor.
The door slammed shut.
Silence.
For now.
Miles slumped against the wall, heart hammering.
Levi sat down hard, wiping blood (his own this time) from a scrape on his chin.
They looked at each other.
For the first time, Miles saw something he could use in Levi's eyes:
Not just fear.
Not just panic.
Determination.
The kid wasn't dead weight.
Not yet.
Maybe — just maybe — he was the first ally worth keeping.
But Miles knew better than to trust too easily.
Not here.
Not ever again.
Far down the new corridor, a light flickered on.
Another monitor. Another rule.
Miles got up slowly, rolling his sore shoulder.
He didn't even need to read it.
He already knew.
The game was far from over.