The basement feels alive. The walls press closer, the air thick and stifling, like the cabin itself is watching me—waiting for something. The hammer trembles in my grip as I pace, back and forth, back and forth, the whispers clawing at the edges of my mind. Hours pass, though it feels like minutes. The shadows stretch longer, shifting in the dim light, as if they're moving with me. My legs ache, my throat is dry, but I can't stop. The pacing feels like the only thing keeping me together, even as the whispers grow louder, more insistent, their claws digging deeper into my thoughts. Joel's voice breaks through, low and pleading. "Adam, you need to stop. You don't see it, but this place—it's doing this to you." "Shut up," I mutter, though my voice cracks on the last word. I can barely hear him over the whispers. They've grown louder, overlapping and insistent, like dozens of voices speaking at once. "Stop it," I hiss, pressing my free hand to my temple, the pain blooming sharp and relentless behind my eyes. "Stop talking!" Joel pulls against the ropes, his frustration boiling over. "This isn't real, Adam! The voices, the rabbit—none of it's real! You know this! You've been here before!" I spin to face him, the hammer shaking in my fist. "Don't tell me what's real, Joel. You don't know what I've seen!" And then I see it. The rabbit. It's perched at the bottom of the stairs, pristine and impossibly black, its fur glowing faintly in the dim light. Its empty eyes—crystalline voids—lock onto me, pinning me where I stand. My breath catches in my throat. I take a step back, bumping into the wall. "No," I whisper, shaking my head. Joel follows my gaze, straining against the ropes. "Adam? What is it? What do you see?" The rabbit tilts its head, the motion slow and deliberate. Its mouth doesn't move, but I hear the voice—her voice—clear and unmistakable. You need to leave. My chest seizes. I grip the hammer tighter, my knuckles white as the whispers wail in protest. The rabbit hops forward, its steps silent. I stumble back, the whisper storm growing deafening, like a thousand nails scraping against glass. "Stop it!" I scream, pointing the hammer at the rabbit, as if it will disappear. "You're not her! You're not real!" I freeze. My vision blurs, tears burning in my eyes as the rabbit stares back, its eyes reflecting me—broken, hollow. I spin toward the journals scattered on the basement floor. I drop to my knees, shoving them open, flipping pages with shaking hands. "This means something," I mutter, my voice frantic. "This has to mean something." The pages flutter, the ink smearing and shifting, until the words align into sharp, deliberate writing: Leave. I grab another journal, throwing the first to the side. More pages, more words—crammed into margins, scribbled over blank spaces. You can't undo what's been done. The handwriting twists my stomach into knots. It's mine. "No," I choke, flipping the pages harder now, as if I can erase the words by moving past them. But every journal says the same thing. "Leave, Adam." "Stay away from the cabin." "Remind yourself." The words blur as a flash of memory hits me—a white room, sterile and cold. The sound of a nurse's voice, patient and calm. "Write it down, Adam. Remind yourself. You need to remember." I see myself sitting on a hospital bed, clutching a notebook, my fingers stained with ink. "Stay away from the cabin." The memory vanishes, yanked away as quickly as it came. I slam the journal shut and hurl it across the basement, my screams splitting through the air. "This isn't real! None of this is real!" Joel flinches as the journal hits the wall and falls limp to the ground. His voice is shaky now, edged with a fear I can't stand to hear. "Adam, listen to me. You wrote those journals. When you were in the hospital. You told yourself to stay away because this—this—always happens. The cabin brings it back." The whispers roar, shrieking over his voice. I stagger to my feet, clutching my head, my nails digging into my scalp as if I can tear the voices out. "Stop! Stop talking! Stop lying!" Joel pulls against the ropes again, his face red, his voice shaking. "Adam, look at me! You're not well! You need help! The cabin isn't real, the whispers aren't real, Lily's gone!" His words crack through me like lightning. The hammer slips from my hands, landing on the floor with a dull thud. I stumble backward, my legs weak, my breathing ragged. The whispers falter for just a moment, as if even they can feel something break inside me. Joel's voice softens, thick with exhaustion and grief. "Please, Adam… Let's leave this place. It's not real. It's not her." The basement is spinning, the walls groaning under a weight I can't see. I squeeze my eyes shut, her voice—Lily's voice—still echoing in my ears. Let me go. I collapse to the floor, my head in my hands, sobbing until my body shakes. I don't know how long I stay there, but the hammer stays where it fell, silent and still. The cabin hums around me, the shadows pressing closer, but the whispers have quieted. My chest feels hollow, heavy, as though the weight of every moment has finally settled in. My head drops into my hands, and for a moment, I let myself feel it—all of it. The pain is endless, gnawing at the edges of my mind, pulling at every memory, every thought. The ache in my chest is unbearable, a physical knot of grief and guilt that won't loosen no matter how hard I try to breathe through it. I'm tired. Tired of the whispers, the shadows, the way this place makes me feel like I'm drowning in something I can't escape. Tired of pretending I know what's real and what isn't. Tired of hurting. When I finally look up, Joel is watching me, tears streaming down his face. "Adam," he whispers, his voice trembling. "Please. Let's go." I don't know if leaving will fix anything. I don't know if anything can be fixed. But I do know one thing—I can't do this anymore. I close my eyes, the image of the rabbit—of Lily's eyes—burned into the back of my mind. "Okay," I whisper, my voice hoarse. "Okay. Let's go." Joel exhales, sagging against the ropes in relief. "Thank you," he mutters, tears catching in his voice. "Thank you." The cabin creaks, the sound sharp and heavy, as if it knows what's happening. As if it doesn't want to let me go. The hammer lies forgotten on the basement floor. I stare at Joel. The whispers have quieted now, lurking at the edges of my mind like smoke, but they feel smaller—fragile. For the first time, I'm not listening to them. "Adam," Joel says softly, his voice trembling. "Let me help you. Untie me. Please." I hesitate, my hands shaking as I step toward him. The ropes look tighter now, biting into his skin, leaving angry red marks. I don't know when I tied them so cruelly, but seeing them makes my stomach churn. I kneel beside him, fumbling with the knots. My hands are clumsy, weak, the strength drained from my body. The rope feels coarse and unyielding beneath my fingers, but finally, it gives. Joel's shoulders slump forward as the bonds fall away, his arms free for the first time in hours. I sit back on my heels, staring at the floor. My breathing is shallow, my chest tight. I don't know what to do now. I don't know what's real. Joel doesn't move for a moment. Then, slowly, he reaches for me. "Come here," he says softly. I don't resist. I can't. Joel pulls me toward him, wrapping his arms around me. The moment my head rests against his chest, I lose whatever fragile hold I have on myself. I collapse into him, my body trembling with sobs I can't hold back. "I don't know what's real," I whisper, the words broken and raw. "I don't know what's real anymore, Joel." His arms tighten around me, one hand cradling the back of my head, holding me there like I might disappear if he lets go. My face is pressed against his shirt, the fabric damp with tears I didn't know I was still capable of shedding. "It's okay," Joel whispers, his voice shaking but steady, a low murmur against the chaos in my head. "I've got you, Adam. I've got you." The sound of his heartbeat is the only thing that feels real. Steady. Rhythmic. Alive. It drowns out the whispers, the cabin, the rabbit. Everything else feels like a lie—like a cruel trick my mind is playing on me. "I don't know what's real," I say again, my voice small, lost. "The memories… I don't know what's real." Joel presses his chin to the top of my head, his hand smoothing over my hair. "It doesn't matter right now," he whispers. "You're here. I'm here. That's real. Just hold onto this, Adam. Hold onto this." I let out another sob, my body going limp in his arms. He holds me up, anchoring me when I can't hold myself. I cling to his shirt, to the steady sound of his heartbeat, trying to block out everything else. But even as Joel steadies me, I can feel the tension in his body, the way he winces when I press too hard against him. The bruises on his face, the cuts on his wrists—I did that. Every movement he makes, every labored breath, is a quiet reminder of what I've done. He's trying to hide it, the pain. I can see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his arms tremble just slightly as he holds me. And still, he doesn't let go. The guilt washes over me, sharp and unrelenting. My chest tightens, my breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps. I feel like I'm sinking into myself, the weight of everything crushing me. What am I even doing here? What's the point of any of this? The thought slithers in before I can stop it: You don't deserve to be here. Not after what you've done. Not without her. My grip on Joel's shirt tightens as my mind spirals further. Life feels hollow, empty, like a cruel joke that keeps going long after the punchline has been delivered. Without Lily, it's all meaningless. She was the one thing that made any of it worth it, and now she's gone. I press my face against Joel's shoulder, trying to stifle the sobs threatening to break free again. "I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice trembling. "I'm so sorry." Joel doesn't say anything right away. He just holds me tighter, his hand steady against the back of my head. "I know," he says softly, his voice heavy with exhaustion and something else—something that sounds like hope, like he's still holding on, even when I can't. But I don't know if I can believe him. The cabin feels far away now—distant, like a bad dream I'm just starting to wake up from. But the edges of my mind still blur, memories shifting like shadows. I see Lily smiling. I see her sick. I hear her laughter, but I can't tell if it's real anymore. "I'm scared, Joel," I whisper. "I know," he says softly, his voice cracking. "But you're not alone. We'll get through this. Together." I close my eyes, letting the steady thrum of his heartbeat pull me back, grounding me in this single, fragile moment.