Ethan Ward stepped through the widened crack in the chamber wall of The Haunted Haven, the twin lockets—one his, one from the pedestal—pulsing warm in his hands, their glow a faint beacon in the dark. The key burned in his pocket, the rusted bell clapper, medallion, badge, and Patient 0 tag a heavy arsenal against the silence that replaced the signal’s hum. Sophie Bennett followed close, her wrench gleaming in her flashlight’s beam, her grin fierce but edged with nerves. Lydia Kane glided beside her, her crimson dress stark against the shadows, her ring glowing softly, while Dr. Nathaniel Pierce brought up the rear, his receiver’s faint beep the only sound, his cold eyes narrowed on the pulsing light ahead.

  “Round thirteen,” Sophie said, her voice steady despite the tension. “Heart’s end—feels like we’re walking into the final level. Think it’s got a save point, boss?”

  Ethan smirked, flipping his locket open—the photo glowed bright, his parents’ faces vivid, smiling faintly, Lydia’s younger self beside them. “No saves,” he said, pocketing it with the twin. “Just the endgame.” The journal under his arm—Hope’s the echo—grounded him, his parents’ whisper silent but their presence a pull he couldn’t ignore. “Lydia, what’s this?”

  “The Shadow Realm,” she said, her whisper sharp, pausing at the passage’s end. “The signal’s heart—where it holds them, where it lives. Beyond the threshold’s core.”

  “Realm?” Ethan asked, the key flaring. “Not just a room?”

  “No,” Lydia said, her gaze softening. “A place—between here and there. The Haven’s will made it—trapped the lost, trapped your parents. It’s awake now, waiting.”

  Pierce raised his receiver, its beep spiking faintly. “Frequency’s off the scale,” he said, voice low. “Not dead—just shifted. This is where it feeds—where it fights.”

  “Then we fight back,” Ethan said, stepping into the light. The passage opened into a void—endless, dark, the stone giving way to a shifting mist, the air cold and thick with a metallic tang. Shadows swirled, not human now, but vast—walls of black that pulsed like a heartbeat, a red glow throbbing at the center, a silhouette within it.

  Sophie whistled low, her flashlight trembling. “Okay, that’s… big. Think it’s got a welcome mat?”

  “Doubt it,” Ethan said, the lockets flaring, the key burning. He swept his light across the mist—shapes flickered, faces of the lost fading in and out, their whispers gone—and the silhouette sharpened: a figure, cloaked, faceless, its edges bleeding into the dark, the red glow pulsing from its chest.

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  “The Haven’s will,” Lydia said, her ring glowing brighter. “The signal’s last form—no face, no name. It’s everything it took.”

  Ethan’s chest tightened, the lockets searing, and his parents’ voices broke through—faint, urgent, from the glow: Ethan, here—stop it. “Mom? Dad?” he called, stepping forward, the key glowing in his hand.

  The faceless figure turned, its red eyes flaring—two pinpricks in the void—and the mist surged, tendrils lashing out, cold and clawing. Ethan swung the key, its glow dissolving one, but more struck, knocking him back. Sophie lunged, her wrench cracking a tendril, a clang echoing, and Lydia raised her ring, a red barrier halting the assault.

  “Ethan!” Sophie shouted, dodging a strike. “Plan?”

  “Get to it!” he yelled, scrambling up, the lockets pulsing. “Break that glow—it’s them!” He bolted for the figure, the key burning, the journal slipping from his grip as a tendril slammed his side. Pierce grabbed it, his receiver beeping wildly, and shouted, “Frequency’s in the core—hit it hard!”

  Ethan nodded, ducking a lash, and reached the figure—its faceless mask loomed, red eyes searing, the glow in its chest a pulsing heart. The lockets flared, his parents’ voices clearer: Ethan, now—free us. He slammed the key into the glow, the glow erupting—a white-hot burst that shook the realm, the mist screaming, the figure roaring, its form trembling.

  The tendrils froze, the red eyes dimming, and a crack split the figure’s chest—light spilling out, not red but gold, warm, alive. Two shapes emerged—his parents, John and Mary Ward, solid but faint, their faces worn but smiling, hands outstretched. “Ethan,” his mom whispered, her voice real now, no static. “You found us.”

  “Mom—Dad—” Ethan’s voice cracked, the key falling, the lockets searing as he reached for them. The figure shrieked, its form collapsing, the mist swirling inward, and Sophie grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

  “They’re out!” she shouted, her wrench raised. “Let’s go!”

  Lydia’s ring flared, the barrier holding, and Pierce adjusted his receiver, its beep steadying. “Signal’s breaking,” he said, voice sharp. “Move—now!”

  Ethan gripped his parents’ hands—cold, fading, but real—and ran, the realm shaking, the mist dissolving. The crack loomed ahead, the chamber’s stone visible, and they burst through, collapsing on the slick floor, the golden light fading behind them. The faceless figure’s shriek cut off, the realm sealing shut, the hum gone.

  Ethan knelt, chest heaving, his parents beside him—faint, translucent, but there. “You’re back,” he said, voice raw, the lockets dimming in his hands.

  “Not fully,” his dad said, his voice rough but warm, a faint smile on his lips. “The signal’s broken—but we’re tied to it. One more step.”

  Sophie grinned, lowering her wrench. “Round thirteen, win column. Nice family reunion, boss.”

  Pierce pocketed his receiver, its screen flat. “It’s not over,” he said, voice low. “They’re free—but the Haven’s still alive.”

  Lydia nodded, her ring dimming. “The heart’s cracked,” she said, her gaze soft. “One last break.”

  Ethan stood, the key in his hand, his parents’ presence grounding him. “Then we finish it,” he said, jaw set. “For good.”