Ethan Ward stood in the main hall of The Haunted Haven, the cracked watch ticking faintly in his pocket as the evening shadows stretched across the dusty floor. The radio’s latest command—“The Haven watches. Find its gaze, Ethan”—hummed in his skull, sharper than before, a challenge he couldn’t ignore. Sophie Bennett paced beside him, her wrench swinging like a pendulum, while Lydia Kane hovered near the manor door, her crimson dress a stark slash against the gloom, her presence steady since their pact.

  “Find its gaze,” Sophie said, her flashlight beam darting across the fake skeletons and creaky props. “What’s that mean—big brother’s got eyes now?” She grinned, though it didn’t hide the tension in her shoulders. “Maybe it’s got a security cam we missed.”

  Ethan smirked, pulling the locket out and flipping it open—the photo glowed faintly, his parents’ faces clearer, the third figure still a blur. “Wouldn’t put it past this place,” he said, pocketing it beside the key, badge, and Patient 0 tag. “Lydia, any guesses?”

  Lydia’s gaze flicked to the ceiling, then the walls, her voice low and sharp. “It’s alive,” she said, echoing Pierce’s warning. “The Haven sees—through the lost, through us. Its gaze is where the signal’s strongest.”

  “Great,” Ethan muttered, grabbing his flashlight. “So we’re hunting a haunted peephole. Where’s that?”

  “Everywhere,” Lydia said, stepping forward. “But the heart’s below—where it holds them.” She nodded at the stairwell to the asylum wing, the hum pulsing faintly from below. “Start there.”

  Sophie hefted her wrench, her grin returning. “Round eight, basement edition. Let’s roll, boss.”

  They descended the narrow stairs, the air growing colder, thicker, the hum swelling into a low drone. The asylum chamber opened before them—twisted beds, shattered glass—but Ethan’s flashlight caught something new: a rusted grate in the floor, half-hidden under a collapsed frame, the eye symbol etched into its bars. The hum spiked, vibrating in his bones, and the locket burned against his leg.

  “Bingo,” Ethan said, kneeling by the grate. The key glowed in his hand, and he slid it into a slot at the edge, twisting hard. The grate groaned open, revealing a shaft—darker, deeper than the tunnel, a faint wail drifting up, not human but mechanical, like a machine breathing.

  Sophie peered down, her flashlight trembling. “That’s… not inviting. Think it’s the VIP lounge?”

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  “Or the lion’s den,” Ethan said, standing. “Lydia?”

  She stepped closer, her form flickering faintly. “The signal’s heart,” she said, her eyes locked on the shaft. “It watches from there—through the lost, through me. You’ll see.”

  “Then we’re going,” Ethan said, the journal’s weight grounding him—The signal’s alive. “Sophie, you in?”

  “Always,” she said, gripping her wrench. “Ladies first?” She grinned at Lydia, who didn’t flinch.

  “Fools first,” Lydia replied, her lips twitching—a ghost of a smile—and she stepped into the shaft, her crimson form sinking into the dark. Ethan followed, the drop jarring his knees as he hit stone, Sophie landing beside him with a muffled curse.

  The chamber below was vast—raw stone walls, slick with damp, carved with symbols that glowed sickly green. The hum was deafening now, a living pulse, and at the center loomed a machine—rusted gears, tangled wires, a massive eye-shaped lens pulsing with light. Shadows swirled around it—vague, human, their wails threading through the drone, and Ethan’s locket flared, hot against his skin.

  “The Haven’s gaze,” Lydia said, materializing beside him, her voice sharp. “It sees—feeds—through them.”

  “Them?” Ethan asked, stepping forward, but the shadows lunged—dozens, their forms sharpening into faces—men, women, hollow-eyed, screaming. One grabbed his arm, cold and clawing, and he swung the key, its glow dissolving it into mist. More surged, their wails deafening, and Sophie swung her wrench, a clang echoing as one vanished.

  “Busy eye,” she shouted, dodging a tendril. “How do we shut it?”

  “Break it,” Lydia said, her ring glinting as she raised a hand. The shadows froze, trembling, and she pointed at the lens. “That’s its focus—where it holds them.”

  Ethan bolted for the machine, the key burning, and slammed it into a slot beneath the lens. The hum spiked, a roar tearing through the chamber, and the lens cracked, light spilling out—blinding, searing. Voices erupted—not just the lost, but his parents’, clear and urgent.

  “Ethan!” his mom cried, her voice breaking through the static. “It’s alive—stop it!”

  “Dad?” Ethan yelled, gripping the key as the shadows shrieked, dissolving into the light. His dad’s voice followed, rough and faint: “The signal’s us—free us—”

  The lens shattered, the machine groaning, and the light died, plunging them into silence. A small object clattered from the wreckage—a rusted gear, etched with the eye symbol, its edges warm. Ethan picked it up, chest heaving, the locket glowing—his parents’ photo sharp now, the third figure clearer: Lydia, younger, trapped with them.

  “They’re in it,” Ethan said, voice raw, turning to Lydia. “You knew.”

  “I was,” she said, her gaze softening. “They tried to free me—stayed instead. The signal’s their prison.”

  “Then we break it,” Sophie said, lowering her wrench, her grin fierce. “Right, boss?”

  “Right,” Ethan said, pocketing the gear. The hum was quieter now, but not gone—a whisper, watching, waiting. “Next move, Lydia?”

  She nodded at the shaft, her form steady. “Deeper. The heart’s core. That’s where they scream.”

  “Round nine,” Sophie said, hefting her flashlight. “Let’s blind it.”

  Ethan gripped the key, the gear heavy in his pocket. The Haven’s gaze was broken, but its voice wasn’t—and he wasn’t stopping until it let them go.