Chapter 29 The Second Trial
“That’s it?” Jamie scoffed.
I nodded.
Vincent came behind me and peered over my shoulder, frowning. “That’s strange.” He straightened. “Let me get mine.”
He stepped toward the bottle, his expression tight with unease, and slid out a folded paper. The moment he opened it, his brows pulled sharply together.
“Gas?” he muttered, almost unbelieving.
Cordelia exhaled through her nose, pushed back her hair, and stepped forward with a resigned flick of her wrist.
“Let’s see what I get,” she said. She lifted the bottle, fingers trembling slightly from the cold, and drew out a paper. She unfolded it with a crisp snap. “I got sand.”
She turned to Jamie, one brow raised. “Come on. Get yours.”
Jamie huffed, shoulders sagging as though the cold were physically weighing him down. He dragged himself forward, snatched a paper, and unfolded it.
“I get… flies?” His voice cracked. “What the hell… oh God.” He pressed a palm to his forehead and shut his eyes tight, as if he could block out the image entirely.
Melanie stepped forward next. Her movements were gentle but deliberate, as though she feared the room itself might react. She drew out her paper, unfolded it slowly.
“A mirror,” she said, her voice hollow. “Mine says mirror.”
Then came the last one to move, the timid nerd who had been shaking since he woke. He approached with small, hesitant steps, shoulders hunched, his fingers tugging anxiously at his sleeves.
Jamie rolled his eyes and shoved him forward. “Stop dragging your feet. Don’t waste our time.”
He stumbled, nearly losing his balance.
“Careful,” I said, reaching out instinctively, ready to catch him. He steadied himself before my hand touched him and offered a small, apologetic nod, eyes downcast, unable to meet anyone’s gaze.
He forced himself the rest of the way to the table. With visible effort, he pulled out a paper and unfolded it slowly, as though steeling himself for whatever doom might be written inside. His voice was barely above a whisper.
“Mine… is stones.”
A heavy silence fell as we all stared at the final paper still remaining in the bottle.
“Who’s that one for?” Vincent asked quietly, suspicion tightening his voice.
Marcus, perhaps out of habit or fear or pure curiosity, made the first move. He reached toward the bottle. But the moment his fingers brushed the glass, the wall behind him, the one that had opened earlier, began groaning and dragging itself shut again.
“Marcus! Move! Get out!” I shouted, my heart lurching painfully.
But incredibly, unbelievably, he still reached into the bottle to take the final paper.
“Are you insane?” Vincent barked. He lunged forward, snatched the bottle from Marcus’s hands, slammed it back onto the table, and physically yanked Marcus away from the narrowing doorway.
The slab of stone sealed itself with a violent thud, cold dust drifting through the air like ash.
Marcus was pale, breath shaking erratically. “What just happened?” he gasped, voice thin.
“That wall almost crushed you,” Vincent snapped. “You should have moved instead of trying to read a damn paper.”
“You should’ve let him die,” Jamie muttered, smoothing his hair with an air of irritated indifference.
Marcus swallowed hard. “Thank you,” he whispered, though his voice trembled too much to hold any strength.
Before anyone could respond, another sound echoed, a deep grinding from the wall on our right. Slowly, the stone pushed inward, revealing a long corridor draped in red carpet and lit with warm golden light. The air spilling from it was unnervingly still, as though the corridor itself were holding its breath.
Vincent stared at the passage, jaw tense.
“What now?” he muttered.