Page 148 of Stay Scared

“This one is older.”

I fit the key into place. Ash watches my hand.

“It still answers to mine.”

“Not while I’m holding it.”

I press inward and turn until the mechanism groans open. Cade remains in the service corridor with Owen, both bent over the physical theater plans. Rook’s public broadcast continues somewhere above us through the independent uplink. The route beneath projection divided again. One branch leads toward the theater basement. The other ends here. Owen checks the portable receiver before Ash, and I go inside. Mark remains beneath the torn movie screen. His freed hand has disappeared beneath the opposite restraint, but his head stays upright, and his eyes follow Rook somewhere outside the frame. Evan’s medical beacon still blinks.

“Owen?” I ask.

“He’s holding position. Evan’s beacon is steady.”

Ash looks through the opening. “The analog plotter maps the original counterweight system and any barrier changes. Once the drum starts, nobody touches it until the cycle completes.”

“How long?”

“Several minutes.”

Cade glances toward the hidden room. “So we wait again.”

“We use the one system Rook cannot rewrite from a keyboard.”

Owen hands me a mechanical flashlight and places the receiver beside the opening. “I have both feeds. If Mark or Evan changes position, I call.”

Cade points at Ash. “When that machine stops, this wall opens. If Salem isn’t standing on this side of it, I’m coming through.”

“You could destroy the mechanism before it finishes.”

Cade doesn’t blink. “Then open it before I have to.”

I step inside. Ash follows, and the panel closes behind us without engaging the mechanical latch. The room opens onto a stage instead of a control chamber. Black flooring stretches beneath suspended curtains. Empty seats rise along one wall facing a shallow platform marked with faded position lines. A long table dominates the center. Pages cover it. My name sits at the top of the sheet.

FINAL GIRL PROTOCOL: SALEM STERLING.

I lower the flashlight. “You told me there were analog controls.”

“There are.”

“You left out all of this.”

Ash walks toward the table. Medical tape crosses the cut near his temple. Without the glowing mask, he should look less imposing. The effect survives bare-faced. The performance is gone, but the control never needed the costume as much as he wanted everyone to believe. I follow him. His handwriting fills page after page.

MEMORY HOUSE.

BLIND MAZE.

DIRECTOR’S CHAMBER.

Some sections have been cut apart and rebuilt so many times that the paper is soft at the corners. Margins carry timing notes, sightline measurements, door positions, performer routes, even calculations for how long silence should last before a participant begins looking for the next threat. The final section is unfinished.

“You wrote this before tonight.”

Ash rests two fingers against the table. “The first version started eighteen months ago.”

I look at him. “That was before Cade joined Final Girl Protocol.”

“Cade came later.”