It was silent.
Not the comforting kind.
The kind of silence that presses against your ears, like it's trying to suffocate you.
But the grief was there.
Thick.
Unmoving.
Suffocating.
Every negative emotion lingered in the air—regret, guilt, hopelessness…
And under all of it, a hollow acceptance that nothing was going to change.
Samuel stood up slowly, his expression unreadable, eyes empty.
"Let's get moving," he said.
His voice was flat.
Emotionless.
"They're dead. They won't be coming back."
Each word was a blade, dull and brutal.
"Victor is here too… everyone else made it except those three. There's no point wasting more time."
He looked at no one in particular.
His gaze was just… forward.
Detached. Cold.
Like he'd shut everything off inside, like the only thing left was to survive—get out of this goddamn phase.
Ava stood a few steps away, her arms wrapped around herself.
She didn't want to move.
Didn't want to leave them behind.
"…That's it?" she whispered. "We just… leave them?"
Owen, still seated, slowly looked up.
There were tears in his eyes, but they didn't fall.
His throat tightened, his voice barely above a whisper.
"…Yeah," he muttered, almost ashamed. "There's… nothing else we can do."
He stood. Stiffly.
He didn't fight it.
Didn't argue.
Because a part of him knew—Samuel was right.
Sierra, however, didn't move.
She was still kneeling on the ground, her eyes blank.
Her tears had dried, but her body hadn't moved at all.
She looked like someone who'd lost everything and was still waiting—hoping—that maybe someone would tap her shoulder and say it was a mistake.
But no one did.
Evelyn sat beside her for a few more moments.
She took a deep breath, wiping her eyes with the edge of her sleeve.
Then, slowly, she pushed herself up.
Her legs shook.
Her face was pale.
But she stood. Because she had to.
Victor, who had stayed in the same spot this entire time, finally moved.
He stood up, brushing the dirt off his pants as if trying to clean away all the blood on his soul.
He didn't meet anyone's eyes.
"…I'm sorry," he said quietly, walking up to Samuel.
"I was a failure. I… ran. I couldn't protect them. I couldn't protect anyone."
There was no venom. No pride.
Only shame.
Samuel didn't respond.
Didn't look at him.
Didn't nod.
Didn't forgive.
But he didn't push him away either.
Victor took that silence for what it was—and said nothing more.
Callen sighed heavily, pushing himself off the wall he had been leaning on.
"…It's over," he muttered under his breath.
He looked at the others, then to Lawren, who was already standing beside him.
Lawren patted the dust off his clothes, glancing at the group with a grim look.
"Let's not die for nothing," he said. "They gave us a chance to live. So let's not waste it."
Callen nodded.
"…Right."
Ava helped Evelyn steady herself.
Owen took a hesitant step toward Sierra, offering a hand—but she didn't take it.
She didn't move.
Not yet.
The weight in her chest was still too much.
The silence wasn't gone.
It followed them.
Clung to them.
And even as they began to move, one by one…
…it whispered behind them, in voices only the broken could hear.
Sierra finally moved.
It wasn't dramatic—no sudden gasp, no collapse into sobs.
Just a slow, almost mechanical push from the floor as she forced her legs to work. Her eyes were red, swollen. Her lips pressed into a tight, trembling line. But she moved. Because everyone else had. Because the ones they lost would've wanted her to.
And so they walked.
Each step heavy.
Each breath a reminder.
Nothing blocked their path. No more traps. No more horrors. Just the sound of their footsteps echoing through the still air.
But the silence didn't feel like peace.
It felt like guilt, cloaked in stillness.
The world around them began to change—the stone walls and shattered glass gave way to unfamiliar textures and glowing paths. Structures twisted in shapes they hadn't seen before. Victor's claims, once riddled with doubt, now held truth.
He had reached somewhere new.
He wasn't lying.
But the confirmation brought no joy.
Behind Ava's eyes, a storm had begun to swell.
Each step forward felt like a betrayal.
If Elliot hadn't gone back…
If he'd stayed by her side.
If he hadn't tried to save everyone else.
He might still be here.
With her.
Alive. Holding her hand. Whispering that they'd make it through. That he'd never leave her. Hugging her. Kissing her. Telling her that he loves her and he will protect her no matter what. Standing by her side. Laughing with her and cheer with us.
Her chest ached with that realization.
Because deep down, she knew it was true.
And she hated herself for thinking it.
She clenched her fists, jaw tightening, tears burning at the edges of her eyes but never falling.
She should be proud. Elliot was selfless. A protector. A hero.
But she wasn't proud.
Not right now.
Right now, she was just angry. Angry at fate. Angry at the Phase. Angry at herself—for not stopping him. For letting him go.
She whispered his name under her breath.
So soft no one could hear.
Elliot…
Victor broke the silence with a dry voice.
"Exit shouldn't be too far now."
Samuel gave a subtle nod, his voice low. "I hope."
That was all.
Owen didn't speak. Neither did Evelyn or Sierra.
Everyone's eyes stayed forward.
Not because they were eager to leave—
But because they were all too tired to look back.
This phase had taken something from each of them.
And it was almost over.
But at what cost?
They didn't just leave behind friends.
They left behind pieces of themselves.
Hope. Trust. Innocence.
With every step closer to the exit, that truth settled deeper into their bones.
The hallway curved. The light ahead grew stronger.
They were about to leave.
But none of them felt like they were escaping.
They were surviving.
But not the same.
Never the same.
And then… there it was.
The end.
The long corridor that had once imprisoned their hope now revealed its final secret—there were no more cells. No more rusted bars. No more chains or the faint cries of those long lost.
Just a single, wide corridor leading to a door.
And above it, an unnaturally bright lamp bathed the frame in pure white light. It was almost divine. Like the Tower itself was mocking them—giving their suffering a stage, a finale soaked in misery and revelation.
But still… it was the exit.
Samuel slowed his steps, then murmured, voice dry from grief and exhaustion, "There it is…"
Owen followed, breath shaky, eyes wide and scanning for tricks. But there were none. "I see it… it's not an illusion."
Ava stared at the door, lips parted slightly, like she couldn't believe it either. Her eyes flicked across everyone beside her—Sierra, Evelyn, Callen, Lawren, Victor. Broken, bruised, but still alive.
Sierra, hollow-eyed and pale, didn't smile, but something in her shoulders eased.
Evelyn, still trembling from grief, straightened her back slightly. A flicker of relief.
Callen and Lawren exchanged a glance—Callen grinning faintly, Lawren nudging his side in warning. It wasn't the time for joy, but still… they felt it.
And Victor…
Victor looked at the door, then at the group. His expression softened into something rarely seen on his face—a real, genuine smile. Not laced with arrogance. Not smug. Just… grateful.
He spoke, his voice light, quiet, like he didn't want to ruin the moment.
"I hope you forgive me for what I had done before, Samuel. Owen."
There was no edge to it. No sarcasm. Just a simple, vulnerable apology.
Samuel glanced at Owen, then the rest. He exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding, then looked at Victor.
"…It's in the past," he said, forcing a small, tired smile. "Let's forget it."
Victor nodded once, his voice even softer now.
"Let's go."
And then they walked.
Their steps were slow—not out of fear, but reverence. They didn't run to the door. They didn't cheer. There was no celebration.
Just silence.
Each footfall echoed like a heartbeat in the corridor, and for the first time in what felt like forever—there was no screaming. No death. No dread crawling up their spines.
Only a door bathed in light.
They were about to leave this phase.
But as they approached the exit, every soul in that group carried ghosts with them. Names. Faces.
Laughter that would never be heard again.
Elliot.
Jace.
Riley.
Noa
Gone.
The Tower may let them leave—but it never let them win without loss.
And as they stood before the door, the light casting long shadows behind them, they knew one thing for certain.
They were not the same people who had entered.
And they would never be again.
But…
Something was wrong.
The air—still and heavy just moments ago—shifted into something colder. Heavier. As if the very phase itself had noticed they were about to leave.
Samuel, who had been walking a few steps ahead of the group, felt it first. That creeping sensation clawing up his spine. He slowed… then stopped. Inches from the exit door, his eyes caught it.
A thick, rusted chain—coiled tight around the handle and bolted to the frame like a cursed embrace. At its center hung an iron lock, jagged and cruel.
Samuel's blood ran cold.
His eyes widened in absolute horror.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!!"
The words tore out of his throat like a scream, echoing violently down the corridor.
He spun around, heart pounding like a war drum, his stare darting across the group like they could somehow undo what he saw.
Owen blinked, alarmed. "What? What's wrong, Sam?!"
Victor, suddenly tense, stepped forward. "Samuel?! Talk to me!"
Ava's heart jumped into her throat at the panic in his voice. "Samuel?!"
Sierra flinched, her brows furrowed in confusion and dread. Evelyn immediately went on alert.
Callen and Lawren stopped smiling, faces darkening with unease.
And then Samuel snapped his head to Victor.
His voice cracked, filled with despair and disbelief.
"THERE IS A LOCK ON THE DOOR!!"
The light above the door flickered once. Just once.
But it was enough to send chills down all their spines.
The door… wasn't open.
It was sealed.
This wasn't the end.
Not yet.