By the time Nasrul and Kamra reached the place where the scream came from, Zakiran was already there.
Ani was on the ground, curled up beside a large stone like she wanted to disappear into it. She'd buried her face against her knees. Her shoulders kept jerking, not loud sobs but more like she was trying to swallow the panic and wailing.
Nasrul slowed. The candle in his hand suddenly felt too small for how dark the forest was.
"So what happened?" he asked. His voice came out harsher than he meant. "Someone tell me."
Kalai pointed, but didn't step closer. "Ani heard a voice. In her head."
"A voice?" Nasrul repeated. His mouth went dry.
"It happened when she touched something." Kalai finger aimed at the top of the stone. "That rabbit doll."
Nasrul followed the gesture.
A small rabbit doll sat there, upright, like somebody had carefully placed it. Its fabric was stained, one ear crooked. It had that stitched smile that was supposed to look cute… but in candlelight it just looked like it knew something.
"Where did that come from?" Nasrul asked.
"It was already there," Kalai said quickly. "I didn't see it at first. I was checking below, near the weeds. Ani saw it when we got close. She said, 'There's a doll,' and she grabbed it and then..."
Kalai throat bobbed. "She screamed. Then she said she heard that voice."
Nasrul stared at the doll, and his earlier uneasiness at the well came back like a cold hand on his neck.
In the game, the rabbit doll clue was supposed to be at the well.
But here it was—near the well, not on it.
Not where it should be.
His guess was right.
The clues had moved.
When they first reached the well, Nasrul had felt that wrongness like they were standing in the right place at the wrong time. That was why he'd kept searching the surroundings instead of trusting his memory.
Now this confirmed it.
The "Wick" he knew wasn't the "Wick" they were trapped in.
And that meant the next problem was obvious.
If the locations changed, they could still adapt.
But if the number of clues changed…
He didn't want to finish that thought.
Because the forest was huge. Their light was weak. A clue could be anywhere. Under leaves, in a hollow, shoved into a crack, maybe even buried.
Buried was the worst possible scenario. Buried meant you could walk right over it and never know.
Ani voice broke again.
"No, no, no…" she mumbled, rocking slightly. "I don't want to be here. It's scary. It's scary, scary, scary…"
Kamra crouched beside her without hesitation. She didn't say "It's okay" like it was a magic spell. She just stayed close, one hand on Ani shoulder, talking softly until Ani breathing slowed down a little.
Nasrul watched, and he couldn't help thinking the same thing as before. Kamra was better at this than any of them. The guys could try, but most of the time they either went silent or said something stupid. Comforting people with empty words didn't come naturally to them.
When Ani finally lifted her head, her eyes were red and wet.
Kamra held something up.
An unlit candle.
"I found it in the bushes," she said. "When Nasrul and I started walking back toward you."
Kalai frowned. "You didn't see it before?"
Kamra shook her head. "We searched that area. That's why it's strange."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Nasrul didn't like how many "strange" things were happening.
But he also knew there wasn't time to stand around and argue within this forest.
"We take it," he said. "We don't get to be picky."
He offered it to Kalai first because Kalai still didn't have one.
Kalai pulled his hands back like the candle was a hot coal. "No. I can't. I didn't do anything earlier except run. If I take it, I'll feel… I'll feel like I do not deserve it."
Nasrul wanted to argue, but Kalai face was too tight and pale. Not stubborn. Guilty.
"Fine." Nasrul pocketed the candle for a moment, then struck a match and lit it.
The new flame didn't turn the forest safe, but it made the darkness step back. Their circle of visibility grew wider. Their shadows stopped merging into one shapeless mass. You could actually see tree trunks as tree trunks, not as crouching figures.
Nasrul lifted his head. "Next, the bridge."
Zakiran glanced at him. "Why?"
"In the game there's usually a candle there," Nasrul said. "If it's still there, Kalai gets it. If it isn't… we at least learn something."
They moved out again, formation shifting naturally.
Now they could make a square, four corners of light, one person in the middle.
Zakiran and Kamra took the front. Nasrul and Ani walked behind. Kalai stayed in the center, protected on all sides, eyes darting everywhere because he had nothing in his hands except fear.
They walked slowly, listening.
Sometimes, far away, faint candlelight flickered between trees. Another group. A moving glow. Then it stopped. Then moved again.
Nasrul didn't want to think too much about why the groups stopped moving.
He already knew one of the answer.
Eventually the bridge appeared.
Wooden. Old. The rails had been painted red once, long ago. The floorboards weren't painted at all and looked thinner than they should.
Zakiran let out a low whistle. "So that's the bridge."
Kamra squinted. "I expected stone. Like… you know, those old European bridges."
Ani sniffed. "Me too."
Kalai stepped closer and immediately looked worse. "Is that even safe? There's barely any wood left as the floor."
Nasrul didn't like it either. He also didn't like that it didn't match his memory perfectly. In his memory, the bridge had more boards. Here, the gaps were wider, like something had been pulled away.
"We're not here to admire it," Nasrul said. "Search fast. Kalai needs a candle before the hour changes."
He stepped onto the bridge first.
His foot touched the wood. And the air turned seem to freeze.
Not the wood. The air.
He inhaled, and it felt like breathing in a wet sand.
He tried again. Worse.
His chest tightened. His throat refused to open properly. A cold panic crawled up his spine.
Third breath—he started to shake.
Fourth—his vision wavered.
Fifth—his knees hit the bridge.
He didn't even decide to kneel. His body was forced down like something heavy was pushing on his shoulders.
Sixth—his right hand slapped down, candle clenched in his left. His head dipped, neck straining.
He couldn't get air.
For a stupid, horrifying second, Nasrul thought, I'm going to die on a bridge. Not from a ghost. From breathing.
Then on the seventh breath, the pressure vanished.
Air rushed into his lungs and he coughed so hard his ribs hurt.
Sweat poured down his face, and he didn't remember sweating but he was drenched. His heart hammered like it wanted out.
What was that?
He didn't remember any event like that from the game.
There wasn't supposed to be a guardian at the bridge.
At midnight, the paper said Tim was the only ghost.
So why…?
The thought came, sharp and ugly.
This isn't the same Wick.
Nasrul steadied himself, pushing up on both hands, still clutching the candle.
And only then did he notice something else.
The others were still standing at the edge of the bridge.
Staring at him.
Not stepping forward.
Not helping.
Not even saying his name.
"What are you doing…?" Nasrul muttered, more to himself than to them.
He tried to rise.
The candle flame wobbled.
He lifted his head and then froze.
A face was there.
Too close.
So close he could see the shine in the eyes.
Red eyes.
A smile that didn't belong on anything human.
"Hello, oni-chan," a voice chirped, light and happy, like a child greeting an older brother.
Then it laughed.
"Ha ha ha."
Nasrul blood turned cold.
Everything after that then went black.