Before she opened her eyes, Sara realized she couldn't breathe. Cold water flowed relentlessly into her mouth and nose, stirring a growing panic deep inside her. She forced her eyelids open, wanting to scream, but no sound came out.
She widened her eyes and nervously began moving her hands, as if trying to swim toward the surface. But the harder she tried, the heavier and more helpless she felt, sinking deeper.
With misty eyes, she watched ghostly phantoms circling her—dangerously close, yet oddly cheerful at her presence. They seemed eager to communicate something, but their voices were indistinct underwater, muffled beyond understanding.
Just before she finally sank down to her knees, her gaze caught on a metal box lying among human skeletons on the bottom. With the last shred of strength, she stretched her hand toward it, but she was too far away.
Suddenly, a sharp pain stabbed her chest. She felt her strength slip away, and before darkness took her, a familiar face appeared before her—Simon's.
Sara jolted awake with a quiet shriek as Simon leaned over her, his expression one of curious concern at the nightmare she had just escaped.
Breathing heavily, he glanced around, his eyes wide and shaky as he realized they were underground.
It had happened again. The nightmare had returned—and with it, the sleepwalking.
"Sara?" Simon's voice was gentle but puzzled. She looked up at him, then uncertainly over her shoulder as another voice echoed nearby.
The boy stared at her with wide, shocked eyes.
Where had he come from?
"Oliver," Sara whispered, pushing herself up from the cold, wet floor. She staggered, but Oliver was quick to grab her shoulders and steady her. He studied her face carefully—how worn she looked.
Her usually pale, beautiful skin appeared gray and tired. Her large, round eyes lacked their usual sparkle, and dark bruises under them stole her shy, girlish charm.
"Why are you here?" she asked quietly.
"To protect you," he said simply, leaving her momentarily confused.
"But—"
"I just woke up at the right time," he explained, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. Sara opened her mouth to speak but found no words. "When you left the room, I followed you," he continued. "I noticed something was wrong. You were acting strangely. It wasn't just sleepwalking—it looked like someone was leading you."
Sara glanced at Simon, who shrugged and avoided her gaze. He seemed reluctant to say more—he probably knew which ghost it was, but had to keep silent.
Why?
"Oliver, it's dangerous for you to follow me. You're in even more danger, and I don't believe they just let you go. They lied to you, and you don't seem to care," she said nervously.
Oliver's eyes darkened. "Sara, my soul died with my family's tragedy. It died the moment I joined those nasty people," he declared, gripping her face gently. "This," he said, pointing to himself, "is just the body I have left behind. It exists only to protect you—keep you safe."
Sara blinked in disbelief. Oliver—the same boy who just months ago had been distant and closed off—stood before her now, speaking honestly from his heart.
"If you say that again," she warned, raising her voice unexpectedly and locking eyes with him, "I won't let you protect me—and you'll stop being my friend!"
She pushed his hand away and wagged a finger at him. "I'm sick of you not worrying about yourself! You have friends here, you have me—you're not alone. And understand this: I will do everything to get us out of here and start living a normal life, got it? So stop talking nonsense and start taking care of yourself instead of risking my life. Even if I fail, you have to try to get out of here, because I want the people I care about to finally be safe."
"So, we have a problem," Oliver said quietly. "Because I think the same. More than that—I want the people I care about to leave this place whole and healthy. So, Sara, let me be your shield."
"Stop playing the damn knight!" she hissed, barely restraining herself from shouting too loudly. They couldn't risk anyone overhearing them here. "There are no knights. No ideals. I've been wrong all my life." Her voice softened, shadowed by a painful memory of Alan—the man she once thought perfect, only to discover his darker side, which shattered all her hope.
"We had something in common," Oliver said, a faint smile touching his lips. "We were both closed off from the start. You, because of shyness. Me, because I was an asshole. But you know what? They say people who keep everything inside are the most emotional—and the ones who care the most."
He added softly, "I've always been antisocial, and that's why I screwed up. I'm the one you should've trusted first, not that moron who's hurting you now."
Sara clenched her teeth and slapped his chest. "You're right, you idiot! You messed up because you kept making me uncomfortable at first. It took me forever to trust you."
"And because of that," Oliver snorted, "you ran straight into the arms of the wrong person."
Sara's eyebrows knit in confusion, which made Oliver laugh. She looked like a furious red Angry Bird for a moment.
"And what's so funny?" she demanded, grabbing the tip of his nose aggressively. Oliver laughed even harder, but their teasing was cut short by the sound of footsteps.
Sara shot Oliver a worried look. Without hesitation, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into a narrow hallway to hide. Simon, who had been watching them for a while, shook his head, thinking they were being reckless by making so much noise in such a dangerous place.
Sara peeked around the corner to see who was coming, but Oliver pressed her back against the wall.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Oliver silenced her by placing a hand over her mouth.
Squinting under the dim light, Oliver studied the newcomer—a young boy, probably around their age, with short black hair, a fair complexion, and a lean, well-toned figure.
Oliver had never seen him before.
Sara wanted to ask who the boy was, but Oliver shook his head.
The boy glanced once more around the corridor and, finding nothing, turned and walked away.
"Who was that?" she whispered as Oliver finally let her speak.
"No idea. I wish I knew. I've never seen him before."
"You mean it's someone new?"
A flicker of fear crossed Oliver's face. He didn't know what to expect from someone suddenly appearing in the building, especially a young boy who must be important. They wouldn't drag an insignificant person here—so Oliver guessed they had plans.
"They're planning something again," he muttered.
"We should get out of here. I waited and watched over you until you woke up, now we can leave."
"Oliver, this isn't a coincidence. The ghosts didn't bring me here just to wander while I sleep. They want me to see something," she said firmly, determined to stay.
"You want to play detective? You're really starting to annoy me since you got so bold," he said with emphasis on the last words.
"It's better to be brave than to sit trembling against a wall."
Oliver didn't take his eyes off her.
"I preferred you the way you were before. You're getting dumber by the day, and I'm pretty sure it's Alan's influence messing with you."
"Did you just call me stupid?" She stopped and turned sharply, glaring at him. He nearly bumped into her.
"And what do you think you're doing? Not only do you run into the lion's mouth, but you also shout! Wait a minute, and that boy comes back—where do we hide then, genius?" Oliver asked, motioning to the bare walls around them. There was nowhere to hide.
Sara's eyes widened as a door creaked open at the corridor's end. The place felt like a trap—surrounded by walls with no escape.
"What now?" she asked, panic rising in her voice as she looked to Oliver like he was her last hope.
He smirked darkly. "I should strangle you—or, worse, hand you over to them."
His sharp words ignited a fiery passion inside her. It had been a long time since he acted like this.
What had gotten into him?
With no other option, Oliver grabbed her hand and pulled her back to the main corridor. He knew they'd likely search it more thoroughly now, so he led her to a safer spot.
He positioned her behind a thick pipe and crouched beside it, eyes alert.
"Why'd you suddenly get so mean? Because I told you I don't want you playing my knight?"
"I'm furious at your stubbornness. You think I don't know where you got that brave attitude? You want to go there at all costs to find out your precious Alan isn't among them, and that I've been talking nonsense all along," he said, his voice edged with indignation.
"And wouldn't you want to know if the person you love was involved in evil plots?"
Oliver pressed his lips tightly and gave her a nervous look.
"I wouldn't want to know. I would have stopped loving him long ago—if only for how he treats me."
"And you, again, with your..." She trailed off as footsteps echoed closer.
Oliver pressed her body against the pipe, shielding her.
Someone stopped at the entrance and flashed a flashlight, the beam cutting through the dimness.
Sara felt like banging her head against the pipe. She'd caused this trouble herself. She could've listened to Oliver and stayed in the room.
What if they got caught? What if they hurt him? He didn't deserve that...
"I can see your feet. Just come out."
Sara gave a frightened glance at Oliver, silently pleading for support.
He stood up without hesitation.
Facing the person who called them out, Oliver squinted against the flashlight shining in his face.
"I think they warned you to stay put and not meddle in their affairs, right?" The voice was familiar, sharp—and Sara instantly recognized it as the psychologist's.
He rose from the floor and stepped toward Oliver, grabbing him firmly under the arm.
"Don't hurt him. I brought him here."
"That's what I thought—you're his escort, Sara. Some kind of love triangle?" The psychologist's tone dripped with mockery. "Seems like that's normal for the women in your family."
"What are you talking about?" Sara asked, confusion creasing her brow.
"You're like me," he replied, eyes narrowing. "Men like us are always last. The broken-hearted, the abused." He turned to Oliver, who frowned and glanced quickly at Sara, who had instinctively moved closer to him. "No tricks. Just come with me."
"Do you think we'll listen to you?" Oliver's voice was steady, brimming with defiance. He meant to protect Sara, no matter the cost.
"I think you will." At that moment, the boy who had been pacing the corridor earlier stepped forward silently. Their unspoken understanding was clear: they had no chance of escape.
The psychologist took the lead, but instead of heading to the place that gnawed at Sara's curiosity, he veered down a different corridor. The boy trailing them kept a watchful eye on the teenagers, ensuring no reckless moves.
They entered a room Sara had never seen before. Cold and dim, the space felt suffocating.
The psychologist switched on the light, and Sara shuddered as her eyes landed on the figure behind the glass—a powerful man imprisoned in a locked cell. His mutated appearance was unsettling, yet Sara sensed his mind was damaged, trapped.
"This freak is worth as much as you, Sara," the psychologist said, voice flat. "He knows where the uranium the General craves is hidden—but he won't say a word. Not even under the worst torture."
"Maybe he knows," Oliver offered calmly, "but I don't have a clue." His steady gaze betrayed no fear—or he was simply masking it well.
"You're a medium, Sara. A gift the General both hates and fears."
Sara scoffed. "Ridiculous." She crossed her arms and fixed him with a sharp look. "Why's he so obsessed with uranium? He can get more."
"Mining and refining uranium isn't easy," the psychologist explained, glancing at the silent boy accompanying them. "It's mostly found in Russia, and you have to carefully process it to make it usable for an atomic bomb. That takes real talent. A Russian professor who worked with the General during the war created a perfect, unbreakable uranium sample."
"Why tell us this now? Isn't it supposed to be a secret? Especially since you work with the General…" Oliver challenged, locking eyes with the man.
"You know the truth well, Oliver. So why ask? We're both in this together," the psychologist said smoothly. Sara's stomach tightened. She suspected the boy with them served these people—but what else was he hiding?
She hoped not. For now, he was the one she trusted most.
"Who is he?" Oliver asked, avoiding the psychologist's gaze and pointing at the boy.
"A little help," the psychologist said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Oliver narrowed his eyes at the man, whose smile only widened.
"I take it that's his name," Oliver said sarcastically, shifting his gaze toward the mysterious brunet.
"You know my name, Oliver. Don't pretend otherwise." The boy finally spoke, but his words unsettled the teenager even more. Sara felt herself unraveling. What was going on? How would Oliver know this boy? And why did the boy seem unsure himself?
"I don't know you," Oliver said dryly, looking away.
"I think we're all connected somehow—even me and Sara," the psychologist said half-jokingly, flashing a smile.
"What are you talking about? What is this?" Sara raised her voice, frustration boiling over as she matched their guarded eyes. She couldn't stand their cryptic hints any longer.
"What happens here stays between the four of us," the psychologist warned. "If we're to work together, we must trust each other. A long, difficult conversation awaits. But it's the only way we can succeed."
Sara opened her mouth, but no words came. How could she trust a man who served the General so faithfully—his own uncle—who abused students and hid secrets? What game was this?
Why so much secrecy?
"I don't have to worry about Oliver—he trusts me," the psychologist said, eyes locked on Sara. "But you… I need to tell you something so you'll trust me too."
Sara looked up at him, a chill running down her spine. Why did the thought of hearing yet another secret fill her with dread? Had the ghosts brought her down here on purpose? Was this all staged, because they knew what was coming?