The mansion was changing.

Clara could feel it. Every hallway seemed longer, every door heavier, every flicker of light just a shade dimmer than before. It was as if the house itself fed on their fear—and the more they tried to resist, the hungrier it became.

“Okay,” Marcus whispered as they crept down a corridor lined with cracked mirrors. “Honest question: what’s our exit plan? Because right now, the only plan I’ve got is cry and hope Netflix buys the movie rights to my death. ”

“Shut up,” Ethan muttered, though his grip on Clara’s hand was just as shaky.

Clara tried to breathe steadily, but every mirror they passed reflected things that weren’t there. In one, Ethan stood beside her… but his reflection had hollow eyes. In another, Marcus grinned… with blood dripping from his mouth.

And in Clara’s own reflection—she wasn’t Clara at all. She was Annalise.

Her breath caught. She pulled Ethan closer. “She’s trying to mess with us. That’s all this is.”

“Yeah?” Marcus muttered. “Then why do I look like I’m auditioning for The Walking Dead?”

Ethan stopped suddenly, pointing down the hall.

A door had appeared. Not an ordinary door—it was glowing faintly, carved with roses and thorns.

Clara’s stomach sank. “She wants us to go in.”

Marcus groaned. “And let me guess—we’re gonna go in because horror logic says ignoring a haunted glowing door is illegal.”

But Ethan pushed it open anyway.

The three stepped inside—and froze.

The room stretched like a cathedral, lined with statues of faceless brides in wedding gowns. Their stone arms reached outward as if begging for someone to hold them. In the center of the room stood Annalise herself, her veil trailing across the floor.

“Welcome,” she whispered. “To the Hall of Shadows.”

Clara’s knees weakened. Ethan tightened his grip on her hand.

Annalise’s voice echoed. “Love has guided you here. Now comes the truth. One of you must face the dark. One of you must endure the test.”

“Define ‘test,’” Marcus said quickly. “Like… multiple choice? Oral exam? I’m really good at bullsh—”

The statues’ heads snapped toward him all at once. Their faceless stone mouths opened in silent screams.

Marcus yelped and threw his hands up. “Okay! Okay! I’ll shut up!”

Annalise’s gaze returned to Clara. “You.”

Clara pointed at herself, panicked. “Me? Why me? He’s the one who swore he’d die for me!”

“Yes,” Annalise whispered. “But will you die… for him?”

The floor cracked open. A pit of swirling darkness yawned in the center of the room. Screams echoed from within—voices of the damned.

Clara’s heart hammered. “You can’t be serious—”

“Choose.” Annalise’s voice boomed. “Step forward and take his place. Or watch him fall.”

The floor beneath Ethan crumbled into jagged edges, glowing red. He staggered back, his sneakers barely gripping what remained.

“Clara, don’t you dare,” Ethan barked. “Don’t you even think about it!”

Clara’s hands shook. “Ethan—”

“I’m not letting you die for me!”

Marcus stepped in, panicking. “Okay, time out! Can we just—vote someone else in? I volunteer as tribute! Nobody even likes me that much! It won’t be a big loss!”

The statues groaned, their stone arms stretching toward Marcus.

He paled. “Okay, okay, forget I said that!”

Clara stared at Ethan, her chest heaving. Every instinct screamed at her to grab him, to throw herself forward, to prove Annalise wrong.

The ghost’s voice grew softer, more intimate. “This is love’s truth. To save him… you must fall.”

Clara closed her eyes. Her foot inched forward toward the pit.

“Clara, NO!” Ethan roared, grabbing her arm. His grip was iron. His eyes blazed—not with fear, but fury.

He pulled her back against him. “If she wants me, she’ll take me. But you are not sacrificing yourself for me.”

Clara’s eyes filled with tears. “But you would’ve done it for me.”

“Exactly,” he said fiercely. “That’s the point. We’re both stubborn idiots. So neither of us is going.”

For a moment, the room went still.

And then—Annalise smiled.

It was small, almost tragic.

“You held on,” she whispered. “Even when commanded to let go.”

The pit snapped shut. The statues cracked and crumbled into dust.

Annalise’s veil billowed in unseen wind. She drifted closer, her voice softer now.

“Perhaps… you are different. Perhaps your love is not like his. Perhaps… there is hope.”

And with that, she vanished.

The room collapsed back into darkness.

The three stumbled into another hallway, panting.

Marcus leaned against the wall, clutching his chest. “Okay. I’m filing a complaint. That was way too close to a literal death drop. And not the fun RuPaul kind.”

Clara laughed shakily through her tears. “Marcus…”

“What? I’m coping!” He waved his arms. “You two keep crying and declaring eternal love, I’m just trying to not pee myself.”

Ethan hugged Clara tightly, burying his face in her hair. “Don’t ever do that again. Don’t you dare.”

She held him back, whispering, “I couldn’t lose you. I couldn’t.”

And though she felt safer in his arms, Clara couldn’t shake the thought.

Every test Annalise gave them was harsher, crueler.

And if the ghost wasn’t lying… the final test might demand more than either of them could give.