The scream came from everywhere and nowhere.
Arden ran toward it anyway. Boots on wooden boardwalk. Carnival lights flashing red, gold, green. The calliope music twisted around the screaming. Weaving together. Making something worse than either sound alone.
"Arden, stop." Kael grabbed her arm.
She pulled free. Kept running.
The midway curved. Impossible curve. She should be running in circles but the path stayed straight. Game booths on both sides. Ring toss. Balloon dart. Bottle pyramid. All empty. No one running them. Just prizes hanging. Stuffed animals with button eyes. All watching.
The scream cut off.
Silence.
Arden stopped. Breathing hard. Her ribs still hurt from the Castle. From Lady Crimson's throw. How long ago was that? Hours? Days? Time didn't work right here.
"Mom?" Her voice cracked.
No answer.
Just calliope music. Playing the same three notes. Over and over.
"It's not real." Amara caught up. Face pale. Shaking. "It's the Station. It uses fear. Your fear."
"I know."
"Then why did you run?"
Because hearing her mother scream made Arden twelve again. Made her sixteen again. Made her every age she'd failed to save someone she loved.
She didn't say that. Just turned. Looked at the booth beside her.
Ring toss.
Wooden pegs sticking up from a board. Forty-seven of them. Arranged in rows. And rings. Red plastic rings. Sitting in a basket.
A sign above the booth: RING TOSS OF REGRET LAND A RING, WIN A PRIZE MISS A RING, RELIVE YOUR FAILURE
"Don't." Kael moved between her and the booth. "These games aren't games. They're traps."
"Everything here is a trap." Arden stepped around him. Closer to the booth. "At least this one's honest about it."
The rings gleamed under carnival lights. Forty-seven rings. Forty-seven pegs.
She picked up a ring. Light. Cheap plastic. The kind you'd find at any carnival. But it was warm. Feverish. Like holding something alive.
"Arden." Kael's voice went quiet. Dangerous. "Put it down."
She threw the ring.
It sailed through air. Slow. Too slow. She could see it rotating. Could count the rotations. One. Two. Three.
The ring landed.
Not on a peg. On the board. Clattered. Rolled. Stopped.
The world shifted.
Arden was twelve again.
Lake Thornwood. Summer sun. Her book in her hands. Lira running on the dock in her purple swimsuit.
No.
Not again.
She tried to close her eyes. Couldn't. Tried to look away. Couldn't. Just stood there. In her twelve-year-old body. Feeling everything she'd felt that day. The jealousy. The heat. The way her book wasn't interesting anymore because Lira wouldn't stop demanding attention.
"Watch me, Arden!"
She didn't want to watch. Wanted Lira to leave her alone. Wanted one afternoon without having to be the responsible older sister.
The crack of the diving board breaking.
Lira falling.
The water swallowing her.
And Arden. Standing. Counting.
One.
She felt it all over again. The paralysis. The cold thing in her chest that whispered what if you waited. What if you let her drown. What would happen. Would Mom finally see you. Would Dad finally notice you existed.
Two. Three. Four.
Terrible thoughts. Monstrous thoughts. The kind that made her a person who deserved to suffer forever.
Five. Six. Seven.
She lived all forty-seven seconds again. Every one. Feeling the guilt compound. Feeling herself become someone she hated.
Forty-seven.
She screamed for help.
Too late. Always too late.
The vision ended.
Arden was back at the carnival. On her knees. Gasping. Her throat raw like she'd actually screamed.
Kael pulled her up. "I told you not to play."
"I had to." She couldn't feel her legs. "I had to see."
"See what? You already know what happened."
"I had to feel it again. To remember." She looked at the basket. Forty-six rings left. "Every time I die. Every time I resurrect. I lose memories. Eventually I'll lose that day. The drowning. The forty-seven seconds. And without that memory, who am I?"
"Someone free," Amara said. Quiet. Raw. "Someone who doesn't have to carry that weight anymore."
"Or someone who forgets why hesitation is dangerous." Arden picked up another ring. "Why counting costs lives."
"Don't." Kael's hand on hers. "You've already seen it once. That's enough."
"Is it?" She met his eyes. "How many rings did you throw? In your Station Three?"
His jaw clenched. "All of them."
"And?"
"And I remembered every person I killed in a war I didn't know I fought. Fifty-three people. Some soldiers. Some civilians. Some children." His hand tightened on hers. "I threw fifty-three rings. Relived fifty-three deaths. And when I was done, I understood something."
"What?"
"That remembering doesn't change anything. The past is still the past. The dead stay dead. All you get is pain."
"But you remember who you are."
"No." He let go of her hand. "I remember who I was. There's a difference."
Arden stared at the rings. Forty-six memories. Forty-six failures. Her mother's accident. Marcus's first lie. The day she realized Lira would never forgive her. Every moment she hesitated. Every choice that broke something.
She put the ring back in the basket.
"Smart girl." Ringmaster Revel's voice came from behind them.
Arden spun. The ringmaster stood three feet away. Hadn't been there a second ago. Just appeared. Smiling with too many teeth.
"Most players throw all the rings," Revel said. "Chase their guilt like it's treasure. Thinking if they just understand enough, hurt enough, remember enough, they'll earn forgiveness." They laughed. Sound like breaking glass. "But guilt doesn't work that way. It just grows. Feeds. Becomes all you are."
"What do you want?" Arden's voice was steady. Surprising herself.
"Want?" Revel tilted their head. Neck bending too far. "I want to see which one of you breaks first. The dead girl who doesn't know she's haunting herself. The soldier who killed children. Or the painter who draws death."
They gestured.
The carnival shifted. Booths dissolving. Reforming. Now there were three games. One in front of each of them.
In front of Arden: A funhouse. Door painted with laughing faces. Sign above: HALL OF SELVES.
In front of Kael: A shooting gallery. Wooden cutouts of people. Soldiers. Civilians. Children. Sign above: KILL THEM AGAIN.
In front of Amara: An easel. Canvas. Paints. Brushes. Sign above: PAINT YOUR DEATH.
"Three games," Revel said. "Three prices. Play your game. Face yourself. Survive. And you move to Station Five." Their smile widened. "Or don't play. Stay here forever. Join the carnival. We always need new attractions."
"What if we refuse all three?" Kael asked.
"Then I'll choose for you." Revel snapped their fingers.
The wooden cutouts in the shooting gallery came alive. Not moving. Just became real. Real soldiers. Real civilians. Real children. All staring at Kael with dead eyes.
"No." Kael backed away. "No, you can't—"
"I can do anything here." Revel's voice went cold. Flat. "This is my Station. My rules. My game." They looked at Arden. "Play. Or watch your friends suffer. Your choice."
Always a choice. Always the weight of other people's lives on her decisions.
Arden looked at the funhouse door. Laughing faces. Mocking. Knowing.
"What's inside?" she asked.
"Mirrors," Revel said. "Forty-seven mirrors. Each one shows a different you. Different timeline. Different death. Different life." They leaned closer. "You'll see who you could have been. Who you should have been. Who you'll never be. And when you're done, you'll understand the truth."
"What truth?"
"That there's no version of you worth saving."
The words should have hurt. Should have broken something. But Arden just felt tired. So tired.
"Fine." She walked toward the funhouse door. "I'll play."
"Arden, don't." Amara grabbed her hand. "We'll find another way."
"There is no other way." Arden squeezed her hand. Let go. "There never is."
She opened the door.
Darkness inside. Complete. The kind of dark that had weight. Substance. She stepped through.
The door slammed behind her.
Lights flared. Not regular lights. Wrong lights. Coming from mirrors. Mirrors covering every wall. Ceiling. Floor. Everywhere she looked, herself staring back.
But different.
The first mirror showed her at the lake. But in this version, she jumped in immediately. Saved Lira in five seconds. No brain damage. No trauma. No forty-seven seconds of guilt. Just a sister who saved a sister. Normal. Simple. Good.
The second mirror showed her older. Thirty maybe. Wedding ring. Pregnant. Happy. Marcus beside her. Loyal. In love. No betrayal. No Lira seducing him. Just a normal relationship. Normal life.
The third mirror showed her famous. Book tours. Awards. Oprah interview. Her novels selling millions. No horror. No death. Just literary fiction about family. About healing. About hope.
The fourth showed her dead at sixteen. Car accident with her mother. Both bodies in the wreckage. But together. At least together.
The fifth showed her saving everyone. At the lake. In the car. On Bus 000. Every choice correct. Every person surviving. Hero Arden. The Arden she wanted to be.
She walked deeper. Mirror after mirror. Forty-seven versions.
Successful Arden. Loved Arden. Forgiven Arden. Rich Arden. Brave Arden. Beautiful Arden. Kind Arden.
Every version better than the real one. Every version proof that she'd made wrong choices. That if she'd just been different, stronger, faster, braver, everything would have worked out.
By the twentieth mirror, she was crying. By the thirtieth, she couldn't stand. By the fortieth, she understood what Revel meant.
There was no version of her worth saving.
Because the real her—the one who hesitated, who counted, who wrote horror instead of living—that Arden destroyed everything she touched. Made everyone around her worse. Was better off dead.
The forty-seventh mirror was different.
Not showing a better version.
Showing the truth.
Arden looked at her reflection. Really looked. Saw herself as she was. Dirty. Bloody. Broken. Ribs cracked. Memories lost. Standing in a carnival in hell after dying in her own timeline.
Ghost pretending to be alive. Dead girl haunting herself.
"You're right," she said to the mirror. To herself. "There's no version of me worth saving."
Her reflection smiled.
"Then stop trying to save her."
The voice wasn't hers. Wasn't Revel's. Wasn't anyone's she recognized.
The reflection stepped out of the mirror.
Solid. Real. Another Arden. But this one was different. Older. Maybe thirty. Scars on her face. Hands. Burns. Stab wounds. Survived things. Terrible things.
"Who are you?" Arden whispered.
"I'm you," the scarred Arden said. "From the future. From a timeline where you survive all seven Stations. Where you beat the Entity. Where you win."
"That's impossible."
"Everything here is impossible." Scarred Arden moved closer. "I came back to tell you something. The only way to win isn't to save yourself. It's to destroy yourself. Erase yourself. Become nothing."
"I don't understand."
"You will." Scarred Arden touched her face. Gentle. Sad. "The Entity feeds on fear. On guilt. On self-hatred. Every ring you throw. Every mirror you look in. Every time you torture yourself with what you could have been. You feed it. Make it stronger."
"Then what do I do?"
"Stop caring." Scarred Arden's eyes were hard. Cold. Empty. "Stop caring about Lira. About Marcus. About your mother. About every person you've failed. Stop caring about being good. About being forgiven. About being worth saving."
"I can't."
"Then you'll die. Again. And again. Forever." Scarred Arden stepped back. Toward the mirror. "The Entity wins when you care. When you keep trying to be better. Because trying means you think you're broken. And broken things are easy to feed on."
She was almost to the mirror now. Almost gone.
"Wait," Arden said. "If you came back to warn me, doesn't that mean you still care?"
Scarred Arden stopped. Turned.
And smiled. Real smile. First warmth Arden had seen.
"Yeah," she said. "I guess I'm still broken too."
She stepped into the mirror. Vanished.
The mirrors shattered. All of them. At once. Glass exploding. Raining down.
Arden covered her face. Waited for impact. For cutting. For pain.
Nothing hit her.
She looked up.
The glass hung in the air. Frozen. Thousands of pieces. Each one reflecting a different version of herself. All the timelines. All the choices. All the failures.
Then the pieces fell. Not on her. Just down. Hitting nothing. Passing through the floor like it wasn't there.
The funhouse dissolved.
She was outside again. On the midway. Kael and Amara staring at her.
"How long was I in there?" she asked.
"Three seconds," Kael said. "You opened the door. It closed. Then you were back."
"It felt like hours."
"Time's broken here." He looked at her closer. Worried. "What did you see?"
"Everything." She turned to Ringmaster Revel. "I played your game. Now let us through."
Revel studied her. Head tilting. Eyes too bright. Too aware.
"You didn't break," they said. Surprised. Almost impressed. "Most players shatter. Spend eternity staring at their better selves. But you. You walked out. How?"
"I stopped looking at what I could have been." Arden's voice was steady. Clear. "Started looking at what I am."
"And what are you?"
She thought about the scarred version. About the advice. About stopping caring. About becoming nothing.
But that wasn't right. That wasn't her. Maybe it was a future version. A broken version. But not this Arden. Not yet.
"I'm someone who hesitates," she said. "Who counts seconds. Who destroys things." She met Revel's eyes. "But I'm also someone who keeps trying. Who keeps getting up. Who keeps moving forward even when there's nowhere good to go. That's enough."
Revel stared. Silent. For three heartbeats. Five. Seven.
Then laughed. Real laugh. Delighted laugh.
"Oh, you're perfect," they said. "The Entity chose well." They snapped their fingers. "Go. Station Five waits. But know this, Player 47. The Drowning City isn't like the others. It's personal. It's where you'll face the person you hate most."
"Lira?"
"Yourself."
The carnival dissolved. Colors bleeding away. Music stopping mid-note.
Arden was falling again. Through void. Through nothing.
She hit water.
Cold. Dark. Endless water.
She tried to swim up. Couldn't tell which way was up. Just water in every direction. Filling her lungs. Pulling her down.
This was how Lira felt. At the lake. Sinking. Drowning. While Arden counted.
The water was getting colder. Darker. Heavier.
She was going to drown. Actually drown.
Then hands grabbed her. Pulled her up. Breaking the surface.
She gasped. Coughed. Water pouring from her mouth.
"I've got you." Kael's voice. "Breathe. Just breathe."
She looked around. They were in water. All three of them. But not a lake. Not an ocean.
A city. An entire city. Flooded. Buildings rising from water. Streets submerged. Drowned city. Exactly like her fourth novel.
And floating in the water around them. Bodies. Dozens of them. All blonde. All her sister's face.
All Lira.
"Welcome to Station Five," a voice said.
Arden looked up. Standing on top of a building. Fifty feet above them. Platinum hair catching light that had no source.
Lira. Real Lira. Not a corpse. Not a memory.
Alive. Smiling. In control.
"Hello, sister," Lira called down. "Ready to drown?"