Ethan Ward sat on the cracked floor of The Haunted Haven’s main hall, the rusted medallion from the clock tower resting in his palm. The morning light streamed through the grimy windows, glinting off its clock-and-eye etching, but it couldn’t pierce the weight of his mom’s scream—Ethan, hurry—still echoing from the chamber below. The locket glowed faintly in his pocket, his parents’ voices a lifeline pulling him deeper into the signal’s heart. Sophie Bennett slumped against the ticket counter, her wrench beside her, flashlight dimmed, her usual grin replaced by a tired frown. Lydia Kane stood by the stairwell, her crimson dress stark in the gloom, her ring a quiet glow, while Dr. Nathaniel Pierce leaned against a wall, his receiver silent, his cold eyes watching them all.

  “Round eleven’s coming,” Sophie said, her voice softer than usual, breaking the heavy silence. “Heart edition, right? Feels like we’re running out of lives, boss.”

  Ethan glanced at her, the medallion cold against his skin. “We’ve got plenty,” he said, forcing a smirk. “Broke the curse, cracked the core. They’re close—I can feel it.” He pulled the locket out, flipping it open—the photo glowed brighter, his parents’ faces vivid, Lydia’s younger self sharp beside them. “We’re winning.”

  Sophie nodded, but her frown deepened, her fingers tracing the wrench’s edge. “Yeah, we’re kicking ass—shadows, liches, creepy machines. But…” She hesitated, meeting his gaze. “It’s getting louder, Ethan. Bigger. Pierce says it could spill, Lydia says it’s hungry, and your parents—they’re screaming now. What if we’re not winning? What if we’re just feeding it?”

  Ethan’s chest tightened, the journal under his arm—The signal’s alive—weighing heavier. “You’re doubting this now?” he asked, voice low but steady. “After everything?”

  “Not you,” Sophie said quickly, sitting up. “Never you. Just… us. This.” She gestured at the hall—the fake skeletons, the creaky doors, the hum pulsing faintly from below. “I signed up for creepy fun, not ‘save the world from a haunted radio.’ It’s real now—too real.”

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  Lydia stepped forward, her whisper sharp but softer than usual. “It’s always been real,” she said, her ring glinting. “The Haven’s a trap—for the lost, for us. Doubt’s part of it—makes you hesitate, makes it stronger.”

  “Great pep talk,” Sophie muttered, but her lips twitched—a ghost of her grin. She turned to Ethan, eyes searching. “You’re sure about this? Going deeper, breaking it all? What if Pierce is right—what if it spills and we can’t stop it?”

  Ethan stared at the medallion, then at the locket, his parents’ faces pulling at him. “I’m sure they’re in there,” he said, voice firm. “Mom and Dad—they didn’t run. They fought it, tried to free the lost. I’m not leaving them—or you.” He met her gaze, steady despite the ache in his chest. “We’re a team, Sophie. You’re my anchor. If you’re out, say it. But I’m not stopping.”

  Sophie exhaled, her frown easing, and she picked up her wrench, twirling it once. “Anchor, huh? Guess I’m stuck with you, then.” Her grin returned, faint but real. “I’m in—just needed to know you’re not blind to the crazy.”

  “Blind’s not my style,” Ethan said, standing, the medallion slipping into his pocket. “Crazy’s the Haven’s game, not mine.”

  Pierce pushed off the wall, his smirk faint but sharp. “Touching,” he said, voice dry. “But she’s not wrong—it’s unstable. The core’s dead, the curse is broken, but the heart’s alive. Doubt’s smart—it keeps you sharp.”

  “Then stay sharp,” Ethan shot back, grabbing his flashlight. “You’re in this too, doc. No bailing.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Pierce said, adjusting his receiver. “Signal’s flat now—but it’ll spike again. Be ready.”

  Lydia nodded at the stairwell, her gaze steady. “The heart’s waiting,” she said, her ring glowing faintly. “They’re there—screaming louder. You’ll hear soon.”

  Ethan turned to Sophie, offering a hand. “Still with me?”

  She took it, pulling herself up, her grin widening. “Till the end, boss. Let’s rip that heart out.”

  The radio crackled from the office—faint, sudden, the static hissing like a breath. Ethan tensed, Sophie’s grip tightening on her wrench, as the voice rasped through, low and deliberate: “The tower tolls for the damned. Face it, Ethan.”

  “Round eleven,” Ethan said, the locket pulsing, the journal grounding him—Hope’s the echo. “Clock’s ticking.”

  Sophie hefted her flashlight, her doubt buried under resolve. “Then let’s make it toll for us.”

  Lydia led the way, Pierce’s shadow trailing, and Ethan followed, the medallion heavy, his parents’ scream calling. The Haven’s heart was beating—and he was ready to stop it.