Spes stood before them, motionless. Silent.
The effect of the apple had worn off.
Alice was no longer the wide-eyed, euphoric shell she had been. Her posture had straightened. Her gaze had sharpened. The eerie glow in her eyes had faded, replaced by something grounded—lucid.
She was back.
The real Alice.
The one who wasn't just chaotic energy or sarcastic commentary, but someone who could actually contribute. Someone who adapted. Who feared danger, but still moved through it.
Ivy, Harper, and Nathan had never seen this version of her. Not fully. Not yet.
But they would.
Because in this test—this strange trial Spes had prepared—Alice would show them.
And Harper, standing beside her now, knew it too. She gave Alice the faintest nod. Quiet support. No words needed.
The group had settled. Some tension still lingered in their bodies, but they were steady. Focused. Aware.
Spes observed this silently. And then, finally, he spoke.
His voice was clear and calm—neither encouraging nor cruel.
"The test you'll face is called The Offer."
The name alone seemed to draw the light from the room.
"Each of you will be given a choice. A unique offer, tailored to you—one that will challenge your instincts, your fears, or your values."
He lifted a hand and pointed toward the doorway leading to the kitchen.
The same doorway they'd seen before. The same layout as the old woman's house. But something about it now felt different—deeper. As if the shadows inside held their own weight.
"You'll come in one at a time," Spes continued. "And face your offer in private."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"There is no right or wrong answer. Only your answer. But understand this: your decision will determine whether you are worthy of our help."
Nathan shifted slightly, jaw tight.
"What kind of offers are we talking about?" he asked.
Spes tilted his head—calmly, almost sympathetically.
"That depends on who you are."
The room fell quiet again.
No tricks. No games. Just a door… and a decision.
Harper's hand rested lightly on Alice's arm. Nathan stared at the kitchen, calculating. Ivy met Spes' gaze directly, her heart steadying in her chest.
The Offer.
They didn't know what was waiting in that room. But now, they had no choice but to walk through it—one by one.
And whatever they chose in that kitchen…
Would define everything.
The group took the next five minutes in tense silence.
Five minutes to breathe. To steel themselves. To pretend they were calm.
They knew the time was ticking—each second peeling away from the hour Spes had promised them. Somewhere behind the thick walls of this house, the tentacles still stirred, but for now, the monstrous sound had gone quiet. They had space to think. And that, in itself, felt unnatural. Dangerous.
No screams. No footsteps. No pulses pounding in their ears.
Just the cold ticking of invisible time, counting down to something inevitable.
Nathan sat with his arms crossed, one foot tapping against the dusty wooden floor. His jaw clenched and unclenched, and eventually, he turned to Spes.
"Do we get any kind of idea or hint? About what we actually have to do?"
Spes, still as ever, gave a small shake of his head.
"There is no hint. No guidance. And to be honest, this isn't even a test."
Nathan narrowed his eyes. "…Then what is it?"
Spes' answer came without pause, like he had said this a hundred times before.
"It's a choice. One question. One offer. Different for each of you. You choose—and we give."
A beat.
"Of course… there is a catch. We'll discuss that part inside the kitchen."
Nathan processed it, trying to untangle the rules—or lack of them.
He thought to himself:
"So we pick between two things. We get what we choose. But something comes with it. A cost."
But Ivy's thoughts went somewhere deeper.
She looked at Spes sharply. "But how does that prove our worth?"
Spes didn't miss a beat.
"It does. Because if your choice is unworthy… you will be on your own. No help from us."
A moment passed. His eyes didn't waver.
"Not that you'd need our help after choosing one of the options."
That last sentence lingered—unsettling. A strange contradiction in his tone.
"Not that you'd need our help."
Was that a warning? A hint? A trick?
No one asked.
They didn't have time to untangle riddles.
Spes wasn't going to hand them clarity. And they couldn't afford to chase it. The seconds were already running thin, and they still had to face whatever waited inside that kitchen.
One by one.
They knew they couldn't stall any longer.
It was time.
Spes turned toward the group, his expression unchanged—flat, unreadable.
"Are you done?" he asked, voice low and composed. "If so, who will be the first to come along?"
There was no push in his tone. No pressure.
He didn't need to rush them.
They were the ones running out of time.
The silence that followed was almost shameful.
Harper and Alice exchanged glances, both quietly calculating, both hesitant.
Harper instinctively shifted closer to Alice, a protective gesture that said you're not doing this alone. But neither moved. Neither spoke. They weren't used to leading—not like Ivy and Nathan. That role had never belonged to them. They were support beams, not architects.
But Alice saw something that shifted the entire moment.
No one was stepping forward.
Ivy stood back—arms folded, eyes distant, clearly planning. Of course she wouldn't go first. She was the strategist. The observer. The one who would need to see the rules before risking herself. Sending her in first would be like asking the queen to charge the battlefield alone.
And Nathan?
Alice's gaze lingered on him.
He looked like a man with too much noise in his head. He wasn't frozen out of fear, but something deeper. His pride had taken a hit. Ever since he stepped down and let Ivy lead, something inside him had fractured. It wasn't just ego—it was shame. A kind of quiet punishment he was giving himself. He couldn't even look anyone in the eye properly.
Harper… was just like Alice. Average. Capable. But not decisive.
Except—Alice wasn't the same anymore.
Not now.
She blinked slowly. Breathed in deep.
And for the first time in a long time… she felt present.
Not like in Phase 0, when everything had happened so fast, so brutally, that she hadn't even had time to process what was real. Not when she woke up in that cold, yellowish hell, with strangers she had just met, with no answers—barely understanding the rules, or even herself.
Not like in Phase 1, where she had been tossed into darkness—isolated, terrified, alone on that two-way bridge with only the sound of her own panicked breathing. She didn't survive that phase with clarity; she survived it with instinct and with Ethan's support.
And in Phase 11, she was just barely functioning. Still shaking off the trauma of what came before. Still fogged. Still floating in the echo of everything that had happened.
But now?
Now… in Phase 20—something had shifted.
The fog had lifted. The shock was gone. The rules were understood. The horror wasn't new anymore—it was expected. She knew what kind of place this was. She understood the cruelty, the unnatural logic, the constant threat that hovered behind every door.
And with that understanding came something strange.
Peace.
Awareness.
She was here now. Truly here.
For the first time since this nightmare began—Alice was herself again. Entirely. The version of her that had been buried under panic and confusion and detachment.
The one no one else had met yet.
Her real self.
She exhaled. A slow, measured breath. Her lashes fluttered shut for a moment as she let herself settle into that awareness. Then—without waiting for anyone else—
"…Guess I'll go first."
Her voice was light, casual, but there was steel beneath it.
She stepped forward. Past Harper. Past Ivy. Past Nathan.
Spes tilted his head ever so slightly.
Alice looked at him, chin lifted.
"Let's see what this 'Offer' has for me."
Nathan looked up, blinking. Ivy's brows knit together. Harper's lips parted like she wanted to stop her—but didn't.
They weren't expecting it.
No one expected Alice to go first.
But she was done watching.
This time, she would contribute. And they were about to find out what she was really capable of.
"Very well," Spes said calmly, his tone as neutral as ever.
As Alice stepped forward, the rest of the group froze—processing what she had just done. The room felt heavier, like time had briefly slowed.
Harper's instincts kicked in. She reached out and grabbed Alice's wrist, pulling her back.
"Wait—what are you doing? Did the apple's effect not wear off completely?" Harper whispered, concern flashing in her voice.
But Alice turned to her, calm and clear-eyed. Her blonde hair swayed gently as she shook her head. No dizziness. No confusion. Her piercing blue eyes held clarity—and something else too: quiet conviction.
For the first time since entering Palamine, Alice was fully here. Not floating in the shock of Phase 0. Not lost in the darkness of Phase 1's two-way bridge. Not blurred in the madness of Phase 11.
Now, in Phase 20, she was finally present—fully awake, fully aware.
The fog had lifted. She understood what was going on, how strange and cruel this world could be—and more importantly, she had adapted.
This… this was the real Alice.The one no one had seen before.
"Trust me on this one."
She gave Harper a wink—this time, one that wasn't sarcastic or reckless, but certain. A quiet show of trust. And strength.
Then, she turned to Nathan.
He stood firm—tense, silent, unsure. His presence was always strong, but lately, it had been cracking. The guilt. The ego. The bruised pride of losing control. Alice walked right up to him, her small frame contrasting sharply against his tall silhouette, and gave his head a light pat.
"I'm tiny next to you, you know that?" she said with a small smile.
"But somehow…" Her voice softened. "Somehow I'm still the one stepping forward first."
She paused, meeting his eyes.
"You know, Nathan..."
"Even the strongest things break."
"But true strength? It's not about staying whole."
"It's about knowing what to do once you've shattered."
She let those words linger in the air, her voice calm—yet resolute.
"I've been broken too. Hell, I've been confused since the moment I got here."
"But now? I know who I am. I know what I have to do."
Alice turned, stepping toward Spes, past the hesitation that clung to the others.
And just before she disappeared into the threshold of the kitchen, she spoke again—this time louder, like she was leaving a mark:
"Once you're broken…"
"You can reshape yourself into anything."
"You just need to be smart enough to use the broken pieces properly."
Nathan stared at the floor, saying nothing.
Alice's words echoed inside his head like ripples across a still pond.
"You can reshape yourself into anything."
"You just need to be smart enough to use the broken pieces properly."
Another fragile, so-called "weak" woman had just shown more courage than him.
And once again, Nathan felt the sting—not just of embarrassment, but of recognition.
That line stayed with him.
He didn't speak, didn't react loudly.
But his eyes flickered, just slightly.
And that flicker… was enough to show he'd heard her.
He was listening.
Spes, watching quietly from the side, gave Alice a slow nod—one of approval and respect. He had seen her earlier state, distorted by the effects of the apple, seeming immature and chaotic. To most, she might still appear like that.
Small. Harmless. Childish.
But now? She stood like someone who had been through fire and walked out with control over the flame.
She was sharp. Persuasive. Someone who knew how to read people, how to calm them, how to rebuild them.
She had done it before—with Ethan, when he broke down after that nightmare back in Phase 11.
And now, whether she realized it or not… she had just done the same for Nathan.
Alice—don't go by her looks.
She could charm you, yes. But more dangerously—she could understand you. And that was far more powerful.
Still, even she wasn't fearless.
As she turned toward the kitchen, standing beside Spes, she took a slow breath. Her confidence didn't wipe away the nerves—it worked with them.
She met Spes's eyes, her lips pressing into a thin, serious line.
She was ready.
Scared, but ready.
Whatever challenge was waiting behind that kitchen door…
Alice would face it as herself.
No illusions. No madness.
Just Alice.