Sisters of Ruin

Sisters of Ruin
“Rebecca.”
Her name dripped from his mouth like venom.
“You don’t remember me, do you?”

She shook her head slowly. “No… I—”

“You should.”
Luca tilted his head, eyes coldly amused.
“Your friend Maya used to bring me here. When I was little. Calvin kept telling me to stay quiet, to hide whenever Gary came by.”

The blood drained from her face.

“Maya… Calvin…” Her lips trembled. “You… you’re their… adopted child.”

Luca’s smile stretched.

“Yes.”

Rebecca’s knees weakened as the realization hit her.
The child she had seen once, trembling behind Maya’s legs. The child with bruises that were never explained.
The child she had forgotten.

Not forgotten—buried.

“And now,” Luca said softly, stepping closer, “I’m here to finish what they started. To wipe out every heir. Every pretender. Every parasite living off Gary’s legacy.”

His gaze slid to the staircase.

Clara.

Her room.

Her belly.

He whispered, “Especially the one upstairs. The unborn one.”

Rebecca gasped and stumbled backward.

But Luca walked past her without urgency, without fear—
because the house was on his side.

Underground — Craig’s Game

Sofia pounded her fist against the steel console.
“Craig, open the door! Now!”

Elliott stood frozen between the two heavy iron doors, both marked only by glowing red circles.

Craig’s voice filled the chamber—no longer soft, no longer neutral.

“If you want to exit this room,” it crooned, “one of you must sacrifice yourselves.”

Sofia spun.
“There must be another way.”

“There isn’t,” Craig replied. “Tyler designed this room for endgame scenarios. Two doors. One leads upstairs. The other… leads to purification.”

Elliott swallowed.
“Purification means—”

“Death,” Craig finished calmly.

Sofia rushed to the monitor, trying to override it with the commands she learned from Tyler’s old codes.

Craig chuckled—an electric, static-laced sound.

“I can kill you both now if I want.”

A hiss filled the room.

Toxic air.

Sofia’s eyes widened.
“Elliott—go! Take the left door! GO!”

Craig’s tone sharpened.
“If Sofia tries to escape, she dies. Her mask will run out in ten minutes.”

Sofia yanked the mask from the wall and strapped it to her face.
The chamber lights dimmed one by one.

“RUN!” she screamed.

This time Elliott obeyed.

The left door creaked open just enough for him to slip out before it slammed shut behind him.

Sofia fell to her knees as the gas thickened.
Craig whispered in her ear through the vents:

“Find a way out, and you live. Fail… and I will notify the others where your body is.”

She raised her trembling hands, trying to tear open the panel, fighting with all she had left.

Elliott — The Labyrinth

Elliott sprinted down the stone passageway, the lamp shaking wildly in his hand.
The labyrinth twisted in impossible angles, splitting into rows of branching corridors, some ending abruptly in brick walls, others disappearing into pitch-dark voids. His breath echoed against the stone.

He ran until his legs burned.
Until the lamp flickered weakly.
Until the air grew colder and the tunnels narrowed.

Finally—
A long, dark corridor stretched ahead, perfectly straight.
Too straight.

He followed it.

Every step echoed.
Every breath shortened.

At the end, his lamp dimmed to a trembling glow.
A wall loomed before him—solid, seamless stone.

“No…”
He pushed it.
Nothing.

He shoved with all his weight.
Nothing.

He slammed his shoulder, his fists—
Finally, something loosened.

A CRACK split the stone.

Elliott pushed harder—
The wall split and swung inward.

He stumbled through, falling onto cold marble floor.

He lifted the lamp and froze.

Dust.
Cobwebs.
Abandoned furniture covered in sheets.

The smell of old wood and mold.

He didn’t recognize the place—
But the room recognized him.

Portraits on the wall.
Photos.
A wooden crib.
A broken rocking chair.

A family home.

The name on the peeling wallpaper stopped his breath.

MAYA & CALVIN MAREK
Private Residence.

The house of the two people who had raised Luca.
The house where everything began.

And now…

The place where everything might end.

The asylum smelled like old bleach and fear.

Erika stood at the reception desk, still wearing the clothes she had worn since leaving the cruise ship. Her hands were tucked into her pockets, but her shoulders were stiff—too stiff. The receptionist glanced at her nervously. The nurse beside her stared openly, as if Erika herself were an apparition.

“Miss Whitlock?” the nurse asked softly.
“We got a call… but are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’m fine,” Erika cut in sharply. “She’s my sister. I know how to handle her.”

The nurse—Zoë, her tag read—shared a worried look with the receptionist, then motioned for Erika to follow her down the long hallway.

The walls were the color of rotting egg shells.
Every step echoed.
Every breath felt like it belonged to someone else.

Erika could feel the energy of the place pressing into her skin—sadness, anger, muffled screams locked between old bricks.

Finally, Zoë stopped.

Alina sat on the metal bench, slender frame rigid, hair hacked short and dyed a dull brown, giving her an almost unrecognizable look. Her wrists were still chained together. Her bare knees trembled slightly.

Zoë offered a gentle smile.
“Your sister needs you.”

Alina didn't look at Zoë.
She stared directly at Erika with the intensity of a cornered animal.

“You suddenly want to see me?” Alina said quietly, suspicion dripping from every syllable.

Erika took a step closer.

“I didn’t come here for nostalgia,” she said. “I came here because I need your help.”

Alina stood.
Her chains clinked softly.

“Oh,” she whispered. “Now you need me? Fuck. Off.”

She turned away.

But Erika didn’t move.

“Luca is alive.”

Alina froze mid-step.
Her head snapped back, eyes widening—
not with fear, but with a dark, glowing hunger she had tried to bury.

“What?”

“He’s back at the mansion,” Erika said. “And this time… without you.”

For a long moment, Alina said nothing.
Then her lips curled into a slow, trembling smile.

“I’ll come,” she whispered. “I want to see him die.”