The Stranger’s Invitation

The door behind them sealed with a quiet hiss.

The chamber they stepped into was like no other they had seen before. It was quiet—strangely so. The air was still and warm, scented with something soft and nostalgic: lavender, perhaps, or rain-drenched stone. The walls were pale gray, smooth and curving, almost like the inside of a pearl. No screens, no clocks. Just silence.

Then, at last, the familiar mechanical voice returned. But this time, it sounded... gentler. Not warm, but not cold either.

> "No trial today."

The words stunned them more than any threat could have.

> "Rest. Eat. Reflect. The next trial waits, but not tonight."

From the floor, beds rose silently—five of them—lined up along the back wall, spaced far apart. Soft white sheets. Plump pillows. Clean blankets.

In the center of the room, a circular table emerged with a quiet whir. Upon it: five steaming plates of food. Rice and lentils, soft naan, fresh salad, a side of dates. Each plate had a bottle of clean water beside it.

No tricks. No puzzles. No tests.

Just… food.

The players stood frozen, unsure whether to trust what was before them. Areeba was the first to approach, slowly reaching toward the naan. She tore a piece off, sniffed it, then took a cautious bite.

"It's real," she said softly. "It's actually real."

One by one, the others moved closer. Saira sat first, still silent. Lina followed. Then Haider and Zayan.

No one spoke for several minutes. The quiet was thicker than ever—not because of fear, but because of exhaustion. Each bite of food felt like swallowing something heavy, something forgotten.

"I thought they'd starve us again," Lina murmured, breaking the silence.

"They want us to survive," Haider said, "just enough."

Saira stirred her rice but didn't eat. Her hands trembled faintly.

Areeba leaned forward. "Is it worse? When they give us comfort like this?"

Zayan didn't look up from his plate. "It's worse because it means tomorrow will be worse."

The words settled over them like dust.

After the meal, the plates disappeared into the table with a quiet slide. Lights overhead dimmed slightly, casting the room in a golden hush. Then, partitions began to rise—translucent walls dividing the space, separating each bed into its own private corner.

The voice returned one last time.

> "Tonight, you are alone. There will be no observation. No judgment. No sound. Until morning."

The lights faded again—now a soft glow, barely enough to see by.

Each of them moved to their corners without a word.

---

Lina's Corner

Lina sat on the bed with her legs folded beneath her. The blankets were soft, the pillow inviting—but sleep felt far away.

She stared at the partition wall, watching the patterns of light ripple faintly across it. Her fingers brushed the inside of her jacket pocket. A piece of the old photograph she had given up earlier—torn, burned, supposedly gone—was somehow there again. Just the corner. Just enough to show her brother's face.

She held it tightly.

"Are you watching me?" she whispered. "Would you still be proud?"

She didn't cry. Not yet. But her eyes stayed open for a long time.

---

Haider's Corner

Haider lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. His hands were crossed behind his head, and he was thinking—always thinking.

He had made it through the wires, the mirror, the bridge. Not because of luck, not entirely. He had studied people. Watched them. Anticipated. Calculated.

But now?

There was no strategy for guilt.

He closed his eyes and tried to count backward from a hundred. It didn't work. The silence of the room was louder than ever.

---

Saira's Corner

Saira hadn't moved since she sat on the bed. She clutched the blanket around her, knees tucked to her chest. She didn't know if Iqbal was alive. She didn't know if he had been watching when she chose silence during the mirror trial.

She remembered the way he had looked at her in the first game—calm, steady. Like someone who thought he'd protect her.

Now she wasn't sure who had protected who.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I wasn't brave."

But there was no reply.

---

Areeba's Corner

Areeba sat cross-legged on the bed, humming softly to herself. A lullaby. Old. Maybe something her mother used to sing.

She felt strange. Her limbs were heavy. Her thoughts scattered.

She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep smiling. Not that she was really smiling anymore. Just pretending.

She thought about Tariq—how he had screamed just before the tile gave way. How his voice had echoed and then cut off all at once.

She tried to push the thought out of her head.

Did it hurt? she wondered. Or was it over too fast to feel?

She curled into herself and hummed louder.

---

Zayan's Corner

Zayan didn't lie down. He paced slowly in his space, back and forth, hands in his pockets.

He didn't want to rest. He didn't want to reflect. He didn't want silence.

But silence was all he had.

He had expected chaos. Pain. Tricks. But not this... this cold kindness. This stillness.

It unnerved him more than the games.

He finally sat, legs crossed, back against the wall, and stared at nothing.

---

The lights dimmed further.

The partitions glowed faintly around each of them, like protective barriers or quiet prisons.

No one spoke. No dreams followed.

The night stretched long, still, and endless.

The next trial would come.

But for now—

They were allowed to breathe.

They were allowed to grieve.

And perhaps… begin to break.

---