Day 6

I wake in fragments – not rested, not conscious, just dragged upward by the pale morning light bleeding through the window. My body feels like it's made of wet sand. Even sitting takes effort. The shower does little to wake me – lukewarm to cold, but I barely register the temperature. I brace myself against the tiles, trying to steady the churn in my head.

When I step into the dungeon, the air feels thick and stale. The heavy door seals shut behind me with a hiss that makes all three remaining girls flinch. They cling to one another instinctively, three shapes of fear pressed close, arms wrapped around bare skin for the illusion of safety.

Aria’s eyes find mine immediately – sharp, alert, calculating beneath the exhaustion. She speaks before I can open my mouth, her voice hoarse but steady.

"So... it's time for the next draw, huh?"

Her gaze flicks between me and the other two, mapping out their states like a battlefield she’s already preparing to navigate. Harper edges closer to her, fingers curling into Aria’s arm as though anchoring herself. Juliette stands alone despite being near them, her posture stiff, hands balled into tight fists.

I hold out three sticks – only one of them long.

Aria moves first, swift and precise. She draws and lifts the stick without ceremony. Short. Her mouth tilts into a dry, mirthless smirk, but her eyes stay hollow. Harper hesitates. Her hand trembles as she reaches forward, pulling a long stick with visible relief, though it does little to calm her shaking breath.

Juliette's breathing quickens. Her shoulders draw tight as she stares at the final stick as if it might change length if she waits long enough. She reaches anyway – slowly, carefully. Then she reveals it. Short. The tiny piece of wood looks absurd in her trembling hand.

Aria's smirk falters as she glances at Juliette's short stick. For a moment, genuine surprise flickers across her features – she hadn't prepared for this outcome. Her grip tightens around her own stick until her knuckles shine white. Harper’s breath hitches again, small, panicked bursts as her gaze bounces between Aria and Juliette, the weight of what the day now demands settling on all of them at once.

Juliette doesn't immediately react. She stares at her stick as if it were some foreign object, absurdly out of place in her hand. Slowly, she raises her gaze to mine. Her expression is neutral, but her posture is rigid, controlled – a mask over the fear she can’t hide.

Her chest rises and falls too quickly; her nostrils flare as she breathes through her nose. She turns to Aria, tilting her head slightly. Then she speaks – measured, precise:

"So… it is the two of us now, yes?"

Aria hesitates, fingers flexing around her short stick. Her other hand toys with a loose strand of hair at her temple. When she speaks, there’s a hint of amusement beneath her exhaustion.

"Seems that way." Her eyes examine Juliette like a puzzle missing a few pieces. "I did not expect this. I thought I would be dealing with Harper today."

Harper lets out a small, strangled sound, trying to disappear into the wall. Her arms wrap tighter around herself. Aria doesn’t glance at her; her focus remains locked on Juliette, sizing her up. Juliette’s lips part slightly as she gathers her resolve.

"We did not talk much, you and me." Her voice carries an unfamiliar weight, rougher than before. "You always looked… so confident. Like you understand everything already."

She pauses, taking a deep breath.

"I suppose neither of us saw it coming."

Her grip on the stick loosens fractionally, fingers brushing against the wood grain. Aria’s smirk stretches, though there’s an edge now, sharpened by exhaustion and tension.

"Confidence and stupidity are often mistaken for each other," she says, stepping closer, forcing Juliette to tilt her head back to meet her gaze. "Especially in situations like this."

Juliette doesn't retreat. Spine straight, eyes unwavering, she meets Aria’s stare.

I catch my breath. Juliette holds her ground and the space between them feels taut with electricity. Harper watches silently, wide-eyed, as the two face off in a silent duel of wills. Juliette’s usual softness is gone, replaced with something harder – determination and defiance. Aria’s smirk remains, but her fingers twitch at her sides.

"You are right," Juliette finally says, voice steady. "We are both fucked. But at least I do not pretend I can cheat death."

Aria’s smirk falters for a fraction of a second before she smooths it back. Her fingers tighten around her stick. She exhales sharply through her nose.

"You think you've got me figured out, don't you?" Her voice is low, dangerous. "That I am some fool who thinks she can talk her way out of this?"

Juliette’s gaze doesn’t waver.

"I think you are smart," she says carefully. "And I think you know exactly what you are doing right now."

Aria lets out a bitter laugh, cutting through the dungeon’s oppressive silence.

"Smart enough to know when I am fucked, at least." She turns away from Juliette, pacing a few steps before spinning back. "Fine. Let's play your game. What is your brilliant strategy, then? Because last I checked, we both drew short sticks."

Juliette inhales slowly, holding her steady gaze.

"I am not playing a game," she says quietly but firmly. "We both – we don’t want to die. But one of us must. And I prefer it is you who dies, not me."

Harper makes a small, involuntary sound, pressing against the wall. Aria’s eyes darken; her smirk returns, but it no longer holds the same confidence.

"Ah, I see. You’re not playing a game," she says, stepping closer. "You’re just being honest. Brave. Taking control."

Juliette doesn't retreat and meets her stare unflinchingly.

"I don't want to die," she says simply. "I know I should not be ashamed of it."

Aria’s expression flickers – annoyance, maybe even grudging respect. Fingers flex, curling loosely at her sides.

"Of course you don't," she mutters. "None of us do."

Aria exhales sharply through her nose, tilting her head slightly as she studies Juliette. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating – before she lets out a short, humorless laugh.

"God, you really are just going to say it," she mutters, shaking her head. "No games, no clever schemes. Just straight-up: I want to live and you should die."

Juliette doesn't blink as Aria's words ring with a brutal honesty that seems to shatter the illusion of any kind of partnership that might have existed between these two.

"Is that what you are going to do, then?" Aria asks, voice edged with tension. "Just... admit it? That you want me to die so you can live?"

Her fingers tighten around her stick until her knuckles turn white.

"No arguments, no debates? Just... straight-up execution?"

Juliette meets her stare evenly.

"I did not choose this," she says quietly. "Nobody here did. But here we are. And someone has to make the decision."

Her eyes flick briefly to the transparent wall beyond which only two machines await now – the impaler and the dismemberment station, none of them easy deaths. Aria processes her words, jaw tightening, expression cycling through fury, resignation, perhaps even admiration.

"You are right about one thing," she finally says. "This is not a game. It never was."

Juliette straightens slightly, shoulders squared. She doesn’t smile – can’t smile – but there’s a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes. Harper lets out a trembling breath, watching silently with wide, wet eyes. Aria turns her back on everyone, walking slowly toward the machines beyond the glass.

Her bare feet press against the cold dungeon floor as she paces in front of the transparent wall, studying the remaining machines with grim detachment. The impaler's long spike glints under the harsh lights, the dismemberment station's sharp implements waiting in cruel readiness. I follow at a careful distance, sensing the tension radiating from her.

"What are you thinking?" I ask quietly.

Aria doesn't turn around immediately. She raises a hand, tracing the outline of the impaler against the glass.

"That this is worse than I thought it would be," she admits finally.

Her reflection shows a tight line of lips, controlled but strained. I move closer until I sense the heat radiating from her skin, notice the slight tremor in her breathing. Aria doesn't pull away, but her entire body tenses as I approach.

"I expected pain. I expected fear," she says, eyes catching mine over her shoulder. "But I did not think it would feel like this."

She presses a palm to the glass, leaving a faint smudge. Her fingers tremble slightly.

"Like what?" I ask, speaking gently now.

Her reflection shows a slight twitch at the corner of her mouth – almost a smile, but not quite.

"Like standing here deciding how I want to die," she murmurs. "Like this is somehow my choice."

She turns fully to me, defiant and broken at once. Her hands clench slightly at her sides, every breath sharp and uneven. I reach up, my fingertips hovering just above her shoulder, not quite touching. Aria doesn't flinch away, but her breath catches as my fingers graze the sensitive skin of her collarbone.

"Is it your choice?" I ask quietly.

Aria exhales sharply, her face twisting for a moment before smoothing into something eerily calm.

"No," she admits. "But I can pretend it is."

Her hand rises, hovering near my wrist, hesitating before touching. When her fingers finally make contact, they tremble against my skin. I step closer, close enough that the heat of her body envelops me. Her breath is warm against my neck, unsteady and quick. I can smell the salt of her skin, the faint musk of fear, the underlying sweetness that's always there beneath it all. Aria's fingers tighten slightly around my wrist, not pulling me closer, not pushing me away – just holding on.

"I wish I could hate you," she says softly, almost to herself. "It would be easier."

Her breath stutters against my neck, her fingers curling slightly into my shirt. I can sense the war inside her – the part that wants to push me away, the part that wants to pull me closer. Aria's chest rises and falls rapidly against mine as she struggles to keep herself together.

"You can hate me," I whisper, resting my forehead against hers. "You should hate me."

Aria's breath catches. Her fingers twist harder into my shirt.

"Then why do I still want you to touch me?"

The words escape in a whisper, raw and vulnerable. Her blue-gray eyes meet mine, shining with tears that spill over without resistance. I brush my fingers along her cheeks, wiping the tears in slow, gentle strokes. She shivers under my touch but doesn't pull away. Her pupils widen as she studies my face.

"I can't," she says finally, the words shaking. "I... I let three girls die instead of me. I killed them. I cannot do this again."

She swallows hard. Her hand fumbles higher on my shirt, lifting her onto her toes as if trying to erase the last bit of distance between us.

"But I still don't want to die."

The confession hangs between us, heavy and electric, like the sound the air makes before a storm breaks. My hands move of their own accord, one sliding around her waist while the other cups the back of her neck, my thumb brushing the sensitive skin beneath her ear. Aria's breath hitches, her body tensing as she presses closer, her breasts flattening against my chest. I feel every shuddering inhale through the thin fabric of my shirt.

"I know," I murmur against her hair. "I know you don't want to die."

My fingers tighten slightly on her waist, pulling her flush against me. Aria shudders against me, her entire body quivering as she presses her forehead into the side of my neck. Her fingers twist in my shirt, nails digging into the fabric as she breathes raggedly against my skin. The rapid thud of her pulse flutters beneath my thumb at the base of her throat.

"Is this your final decision?" I ask.

Aria's body goes rigid in my arms, her fingers pressing harder against my chest as her breathing stops. For several agonizing seconds, she remains frozen against me, her heart pounding so violently I can feel it through my shirt. When she finally speaks, her voice cracks like glass.

"What choice do I have?"

She pulls back just enough to look past me, toward the machinery looming beyond the transparent wall. The cold blue light reflects in her eyes.

"Juliette doesn't want to die either. But at least she did not have three girls die instead of her already."

She hides her face in my chest, her body shaking with sobs as she starts to cry. My arms tighten around her as her body convulses against me, her tears soaking through my shirt in hot streaks. I feel her pain in the desperate clutch of her fingers against my back, the way she buries her face deeper into my chest as if trying to disappear into me.

"I know," I whisper, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I know."

Aria's breath catches at the contact, her fingers twisting in the fabric of my shirt like she's holding on for dear life. When she speaks, her voice is muffled and broken.

"You will make it quick, right? Like you promised the others?"

I hesitate only a moment before answering.

"There are no easy choices left. Only impalement and dismemberment."

Her breath falters. She tilts her head up, her face streaked with tears, her grip tightening until her knuckles go white.

"The impaler," she whispers, her voice faint as a summer breeze. "I will not last long."

Her voice shakes on the last word, and she presses herself into my chest again, as though hiding from her own decision. Her fingers tremble against my back.

I run a hand down her spine, feeling every vertebra tense beneath my touch. She lets out a wavering breath, leaning into the gesture before forcing herself to straighten. She wipes her face with the back of her hand, trying to pull the remnants of composure back onto her features. She looks at the impaler again. Its long metal shaft gleams coldly under the lights. She swallows.

"You promised you would..."

She stops, unable to finish the sentence. I understand. I cup her face, brushing away the moisture beneath her eyes with my thumbs.

"I did." I keep my tone low, steady. "I'll be gentle."

A broken, almost disbelieving laugh escapes her. Then she nods. And then I kiss her.

My lips meet Aria's in a kiss that tastes like salt and fear. Her body tenses for a heartbeat before she leans into it, clutching at my shoulders like I’m the only solid thing left in the world. The kiss deepens instinctively – an unspoken farewell, a desperate attempt to draw strength from each other. She parts her mouth with a soft whimper, and I deepen the contact, my tongue meeting hers. Her hands slide up to grip the back of my neck, holding me close as if afraid I'll pull away.

When I pull back, Aria’s breath comes fast and uneven. There’s something raw in her expression – fear sharpened into intent, vulnerability braided with calculation.

For a long second she just studies me, then her voice comes low, barely more than a breath:

“John… before we go.” Her fingers tighten in my shirt. “Can we… stay here a little? Not the machine room. Here.” She swallows, her eyes flicking toward the far door with a tiny, involuntary flinch. “It is warmer. And quieter. I do not want to walk in there yet. Not… immediately.”

“If Harper and Juliette don't mind." I say, glancing at them.

Harper and Juliette remain standing nearby in awkward silence, their eyes down. Harper glances up when I speak, her wide eyes darting between me and Aria. She hesitates only a moment before nodding.

"Whatever she needs," she says softly.

Juliette adds, "If you two want privacy..."

"No," Aria speaks before Juliette can finish. "No, it's okay."

She meets Harper's eyes, then Juliette's, her mouth quirking into something that might almost be a smile.

"I don't want to... disappear without saying goodbye."

Harper's face falls, and she steps closer, stopping just short of touching us both.

"I don't think I could say it if you did," she admits, words tight with emotion.

I guide Aria to the padded floor in the center of the holding area. She sinks down onto it with a shaky exhale, her knees drawn up slightly. Harper follows immediately, sitting close enough to touch Aria's knee. Juliette hovers nearby, watching with visible tension in her shoulders.

"Harper, Juliette – you can join if you want." I say.

The invitation hangs in the air between us all. Harper's hand moves instinctively to cover Aria's knee, her fingers curling possessively against the pale skin.

"I don't want to intrude," she says, but there's clear longing in her eyes.

Juliette hesitates, glancing between me and Aria. She bites her lower lip, then exhales sharply.

"I... I think I need to be part of this too."

Her voice is quiet but steady. She sinks down beside Harper, mirroring the way she holds Aria's knee.
Aria reaches for both their hands, intertwining their fingers. Her grip is tight, almost desperate.

"Thank you," she murmurs.

I step back, watching as the three girls huddle together on the padded floor. Aria's head rests against Harper's shoulder, while Juliette's fingers weave through Aria's. Their hands remain tightly interlocked, as if clinging to the physical connection could somehow delay what's coming.