The corridor pulsed with silence, only broken by the ragged breathing of the three survivors. The chaos they had left behind still echoed faintly in their minds, like ghosts chasing their heels.
Ava collapsed to her knees, her fingers curling against the cold, uneven stone of the prison floor. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, lungs burning as if they'd been scraped raw from the inside.
"I–I can't feel my legs…" she whispered between gasps, blinking rapidly to fight the dizziness clouding her vision. Sweat trickled down her temple and into her eyes, mixing with the sting of panic and salt. Her body trembled—not just from exhaustion, but from the lingering horror of what they ran from… and who they left behind.
"We… left him behind?" she asked, her voice breaking, barely above a whisper as if she was too afraid to admit it aloud.
Samuel stood a few feet away, slouched against the wall, one arm pressed to the cold concrete for support. His head hung low as he panted heavily. He was trying to hold himself together, physically and emotionally. His knees shook. Every breath felt like he was dragging glass into his lungs. But still—he didn't fall.
Owen bent forward, hands on his knees, sweat dripping from his chin as his shoulders rose and fell rapidly. He was pale. Not from exhaustion alone—but from disbelief, from the weight of what just happened. He lifted his head, eyes glassy and searching.
"Sam…" he managed to speak between breaths. "Why did we leave him… behind?"
The question hung in the air like a verdict. Heavy. Inevitable.
Samuel didn't answer immediately. His jaw clenched tight, and for a long second, the only sound was the echo of their breathing. He kept his gaze low, but a flicker of guilt flashed in his eyes—raw and unhidden, like a wound torn open.
He knew the answer. But he wasn't ready to say it out loud.
Because if he did, it would make it real.
Samuel's eyes wandered down the corridor, the shadows long and endless—like they were mocking him, stretching on without Jace. He didn't speak right away. His chest still rose and fell with uneven breaths, but the silence in his throat spoke volumes.
Owen kept his eyes fixed on him, his voice cracked with disbelief and pain.
Samuel finally broke the silence.
"Jace..."
A pause. His voice caught slightly in his throat.
"...He asked us to run. Said he had a plan."
The words felt foreign in the air—unbelievable, like they didn't belong in the same world they were currently trapped in. Owen's expression twisted as the weight of Samuel's words hit him.
"W–what kind of plan?" he muttered under his breath, brows knitting. "He'll be—"
He stopped himself, the thought too much to finish.
Samuel didn't respond at first, but his shoulders subtly dropped, like the weight of reality was pressing down on them harder now that the words were spoken aloud.
"He'll be killed…" Owen said, voice barely above a whisper.
There was no dramatic inflection—just bitter truth. His tone had shifted from desperation to a quiet, crumbling sadness. His face reflected the same: shock, pain, and that flicker of helplessness that made his gaze silently plead with Samuel.
Tell me he's okay. Tell me he'll make it. Tell me Jace won't die.
But Samuel couldn't. He looked at Owen, and the silence that followed was louder than any answer.
Ava's eyes flickered between the two of them, her pulse still pounding, her breaths still shaky. She saw it now—the tension, the crumbling strength in both of them. Samuel wasn't calm. Owen wasn't angry. They were both breaking in real time, just like she was.
"Maybe…" Ava finally spoke, voice hoarse, "Maybe he will make it."
She tried to sound hopeful, but even she didn't believe her own words.
It was all they had.
Samuel finally spoke again, his voice low, steady—but beneath it was the tension of a thought that had been gnawing at him the entire run.
"I have an idea," he said. "Of what the plan might be."
Both Ava and Owen turned toward him immediately, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten. Their eyes were wide—not with hope, not yet—but with desperate curiosity.
"What?" Owen asked, his voice cracking through the silence.
Samuel looked at them both—at Ava, still kneeling on the floor with trembling legs, at Owen, still leaning forward, breath heavy. He met their eyes one by one, as if needing them to really hear what he was about to say.
"I think… Jace knew what was going to happen. I think he's counting on fear."
They both looked confused.
Samuel continued, eyes narrowing as he pieced it together aloud.
"Think of it like this. If ten people are in a room, and each one is terrified… the Warden feeds off that. Say, ten people each producing ten units of fear—that's a hundred. A hundred points of strength for the Warden. That's chaos. That's harder to manage."
Ava's eyes twitched, starting to see where he was going. Owen leaned in slightly.
"But if one person is alone," Samuel said, "their fear spikes. Let's say it jumps to twenty because isolation is… worse. But the Warden would only feed off twenty. Not a hundred. And with no one else to protect, no distractions, no panic to spread… fear becomes something you can control."
Owen's eyes widened. Ava's lips parted slightly.
Samuel nodded slowly.
"Jace must be planning to fight the Warden. Alone. In his own way."
A heavy silence followed.
Owen's jaw clenched. "That's suicide…"
Ava shook her head slowly. "Unless… he knows something we don't."
"Or he's just buying us time," Samuel said grimly. "Long enough for us to regroup. Or escape."
The idea hung in the air like a noose—a noble sacrifice wrapped in logic and risk.
And all they could do now…Was hope that Jace was still alive.
Owen gripped his head, his fingers digging into his messy hair as if trying to physically pull the confusion out of his skull.
"But we didn't—" he stammered, his voice cracking. "We don't even know each other that well… What the hell is he thinking?"
His breathing turned uneven again. His body trembled—not from exhaustion this time, but from the emotional weight finally hitting him.
"We haven't even done anything worthy for him to take such a big step!"
His voice echoed down the corridor, raw and vulnerable.
Silence.
Ava lowered her gaze. She didn't have an answer.
Samuel didn't say anything either.
But his eyes… they shifted.
They darted across the dark corridor, searching for something—or maybe just trying to avoid Owen's gaze. His jaw was tight. His face, unreadable.
Because deep down… he didn't understand it either.
Why would someone like Jace… risk it all for people who were practically strangers?
Two days. That's all it had been. Two chaotic, violent days in a broken world—and now, Jace was alone, facing death so they could breathe for just a little longer.
Owen dropped to his knees, his palms slapping the floor, a soft, frustrated sound escaping his throat.
"Why… why would he do that for us?"
No one answered.
The corridor offered nothing but flickering lights and the distant sound of dripping water. An eerie stillness. As if the prison itself was holding its breath.
Owen stared at Samuel, desperate for clarity—for anything that could make sense of Jace's sacrifice.
But then… he saw it.
Samuel's face.
That fleeting expression.
A twitch in the jaw, a falter in his breath—something cracked beneath his calm.
And that's when Owen realized…
Samuel didn't understand it either.
He was just as lost. Just as confused. Just as guilty.
Samuel's eyes—restless and unsettled—kept shifting along the corridor walls, refusing to meet
Owen's gaze. Refusing to confront the very thought gnawing at him from inside.
He wasn't just thinking. He was avoiding.
Avoiding the image of Jace standing alone in that cursed prison hallway.
Avoiding the memory of himself… turning his back.
Avoiding the truth that clawed at his throat like a curse:
That in the moment Jace needed someone most—he ran.
He didn't fight. He didn't argue. He ran.
Like a coward.
Like a fucking coward.
Samuel's fists clenched at his sides, his breathing heavy and uneven, and for the first time—
Ava noticed.
His hands were trembling.
She didn't say anything, but her eyes widened just slightly.
Because she saw it too now:The weight of guilt pressing down on him like a phantom.
A man trying to keep it all together—but the cracks were spreading.
And there they were… the three of them.
Alone.
Exhausted.
Each carrying the same unbearable truth.
They left him.
Ava slowly reached out and gripped Samuel's wrist—gently, like she was afraid any sudden movement might shatter him. Her fingers tightened slightly, grounding him.
Samuel's eyes met hers.
There was no need for words.
His eyes were glassy—on the edge of breaking—but he wouldn't cry.
He couldn't.
And both Ava and Owen knew that.
Owen exhaled, then stepped closer and placed a hand on Samuel's shoulder. His grip was firm, a quiet gesture of solidarity.
"Let's just focus on escaping for now," Owen said, his voice low, steady, but edged with weariness. "We can't change what we've done…"
A pause. A breath.
"…but let's pray Jace makes it out alive."
He offered a small smile—a fake one—but it was all he had to give.
Samuel stared for a second, then let out a breathy snort.
A forced chuckle escaped his lips, bitter and tired.
"Yeah. You're right," he said quietly.
There was a moment of silence.
Then he continued, this time with more resolve in his voice:
"If Jace is giving it his all in there… then the least we can do is do the same out here."
Owen nodded.
Ava did too.
The guilt didn't vanish—it clung to them like the cold air in that cursed corridor—but they pushed forward anyway.
Because they had to.
They couldn't go back.
All they could do now… was move forward.
Find the exit.
Stay alive.
And pray that death didn't catch up.
The three of them turned their heads toward the corridor ahead—the path swallowed in darkness, stretching out like a maw waiting to consume them whole.
The silence was heavy.
Only the distant hum of the prison walls remained.
They each turned on their flashlights, beams of pale light cutting through the dark like fragile swords.
A shared exhale escaped their lips.
Samuel took a step forward and spoke, voice steady but soft.
"Ready?"
Owen and Ava nodded without words.
"We head to the same cellblock," Samuel continued. "Reunite with the others. We wait a bit… just in case Jace comes back."
A beat.
"Then we look for the exit."
"Clear?"
Again, a unified nod.
"Let's go," Owen said, his voice quieter now, focused.
"Yeah," Ava echoed, gripping her flashlight tighter.
And together, the three of them stepped into the darkness once more—hearts heavy, minds burdened, but feet still moving forward.
Because what choice did they have?
And so they walked.
Silence wrapped around them like a shroud—thick, suffocating.
Only the sound of their footsteps echoed through the endless corridors of the Hollow Prison.
Nothing moved.
Nothing breathed.
Nothing screamed.
It was all... too still.
Not peaceful. Not comforting.
Just wrong. As if the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Samuel's flashlight wavered slightly in his grip.
His mind wasn't with the light—it was stuck, spiraling, trapped in the same cage they were walking through.
The guilt was growing inside him like rot. No matter how far he walked, he couldn't outrun the thoughts.
He had always imagined himself as the brave one.
The one who could keep a level head. The one who could lead.
The one who, when things went to hell, would stand tall and pull everyone together.
But that version of himself… had never shown up.
Not here.
Not when it truly mattered.
In this phase, he had done nothing.
He hadn't figured out the phase. Victor had.
He hadn't stepped up when chaos struck. Jace had.
Even Owen, quiet and reserved, had stepped up with the supplies, played his part.
And Ava—she had held it together through fear and death and pain.
Everyone had contributed something. Everyone had taken the weight on their shoulders and carried it—somehow.
Everyone… except him.
He had tried to hold people together, yes. But even that had fallen apart in his hands.
He had run.
He had left Jace.
He had failed.
And worst of all…
He was starting to think he might not be the person he always believed he was.
He couldn't take it anymore. The silence was a noose tightening around his thoughts.
So Samuel spoke—his voice slicing through the stillness like a dull knife.
"By the way, guys… we didn't have a choice."
His tone was calm—too calm. Measured. Controlled: Like he was reading from a script he had rehearsed in his head a hundred times, trying to convince himself just as much as the others.
Owen glanced at him but didn't respond.
Ava, however, turned slightly, confused.
"…What?"
Samuel kept walking, his eyes fixed forward, avoiding their faces.
"About Jace," he said. "We didn't have any choice."
He swallowed. His voice didn't crack, but it was close.
"Even if we had argued to not run away. Even if we hadn't run…"
He finally looked at them—briefly. His eyes flicked to Owen, then Ava.
"…Jace would've made us run."
They walked a few more steps in silence.
Samuel's gaze lingered—pleading for something unspoken.
He wasn't asking for comfort.
He was asking for validation.
He needed them to say it. To believe it.
To tell him: Yes, Samuel. You're right. You did what you had to do. You're not a coward. You didn't abandon him.
But neither Owen nor Ava said it.
They just walked.
Samuel forced himself to keep going.
"And if we hadn't left… if we stayed," he continued, "it wouldn't have helped. It would've just made things harder for him. More distractions. More fear to feed the Warden. He knew that."
His voice trembled, but only slightly.
Owen finally whispered, almost reluctantly, "Yea…"
But it wasn't enough.
Not for Samuel.
His hands clenched slightly at his sides.
Fingernails digging into the palms of his hands.
Then, he muttered—more to himself than anyone else:
"…We made the right choice."
A pause.
"I made… the right choice."
It came out like a broken mantra. Like he'd repeated it to himself a thousand times already, each time with a little less certainty.
His breathing grew uneven.
His free hand moved up to rub the side of his arm, as if trying to warm himself.
His fingers trembled, just slightly.
He wasn't cold.
He was trying to feelsomething. Something other than the guilt chewing at the edge of his soul.
Samuel was coping the only way he knew how: By rationalizing. By repeating words that didn't comfort him. By constructing mental walls around the truth he didn't want to face. By trying to stay strong in front of the others… even when he felt hollow inside.
And neither Owen nor Ava called him out for it.
But Owen understood.