Emily didn't remember collapsing. One moment she was face to face with her double, pressing the stone into its forehead—and the next, she was staring up at a sky painted in the hues of morning. The trees above swayed in a soft breeze, and for the first time since the game began, they didn't feel like watchers. They simply felt like trees.
She sat up, breath catching in her throat.
"Marcus? Ava?"
Silence.
No crackling fire. No rustle of movement. The protective salt ring was gone. The ritual stones had crumbled into dust. And the forest floor was pristine, as though none of it had ever happened.
But she still clutched the stone.
Still felt the weight of the forest in her chest.
She rose on shaky legs, every muscle aching. The black eye-stone in her hand was cool now, inert. It no longer pulsed with heat or memory. It had served its purpose.
The forest looked brighter—but not normal. Shadows still hung at odd angles. Light still bent in unnatural ways. But there was no malevolence in the air. The hunger was gone.
At least for now.
Emily turned and gasped.
A path had opened behind her—a trail of glowing moss that pulsed faintly, leading deeper into the woods. It wasn't there the night before. This was new. An invitation.
Or a final test.
She took one last glance at the clearing, then stepped onto the trail.
The mossy path wove downward, spiraling beneath the surface of the forest. The light dimmed as the trees thinned, giving way to twisted roots that arched over the trail like rib bones. Emily moved cautiously, her steps quiet, careful not to disturb the fragile silence.
The deeper she went, the colder the air grew.
And then, without warning, the path ended.
She stood before a massive tree—older and larger than any she had seen. Its trunk was wider than a house, its bark knotted and black. Gnarled roots curled into the earth like talons. In its base was a hollow—dark and yawning.
The last hiding place.
Emily crouched and peered into the hollow.
Something moved inside.
She crawled in.
The interior of the tree was cavernous. As she moved forward, light returned—not from above, but from within the roots. Strange symbols glowed faintly on the walls, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat.
The passage opened into a chamber.
And there, sitting cross-legged in the center, was Devon.
Emily froze.
He looked older than she remembered—more like a teenager than a boy. His hair was longer, face pale, lips cracked. But his eyes were clear, focused, as if he'd been expecting her.
"I was wondering when you'd get here," he said.
Emily blinked. "You're alive?"
Devon smiled faintly. "Sort of."
She stepped closer. "How…?"
"I never escaped," he said, lowering his gaze. "I reached the final round, just like you. But I wasn't brave enough to finish it. So the forest kept me. Not dead. Not alive. Just… here."
"You've been trapped this whole time?"
He nodded.
"But your journal—"
"I sent it out," he said. "The forest lets things go sometimes. It's how it spreads. I thought if someone read it, they'd figure out the ending."
Emily sat down across from him. "I think I did."
Devon tilted his head. "You found your double?"
"Yes. And I didn't run."
He studied her face, then reached into his pocket and withdrew something small—a silver charm shaped like a leaf.
"This is the last key," he said. "The final anchor. Plant it in the roots. That's how you end it."
Emily took the charm and turned it over in her hand.
"What happens to you if I end it?" she asked.
Devon hesitated.
"I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe I finally get to sleep. Maybe I disappear."
"You deserve to go home."
His expression softened. "So do you."
Emily stood.
She walked to the center of the chamber where a knot in the root pulsed faintly. Carefully, she pushed the charm into the bark. It sank in with surprising ease.
The room trembled.
Roots pulled away from the walls, retreating. The chamber grew brighter. The air became lighter, almost breathable. And Devon—
Devon began to fade.
He didn't scream. He didn't resist.
He smiled.
"Thank you, Emily," he whispered.
And then he was gone.
When Emily emerged from the tree's hollow, the world had changed.
The forest no longer felt like a trap. The light filtering through the canopy was golden and warm. Birds chirped in the distance. A breeze rustled the leaves with gentle sighs.
A path stretched out before her—one she recognized.
It led home.
Her real home.
She walked for what felt like hours. Each step carried a strange weight, like she was walking between two worlds. The trees grew thinner. The air thickened with familiar scents—fresh grass, asphalt, the faint tang of metal.
And then, she saw it.
The edge of the forest.
And beyond it… the playground.
Where it all began.
Ava was the first to spot her.
She came running, tears streaking her face, Marcus close behind. Leah followed quietly, bunny in hand.
They embraced in the middle of the field, surrounded by silence.
"You disappeared," Ava cried. "We thought we lost you."
Emily clutched them tightly. "It's over. The game is done."
"Are you sure?" Marcus asked.
Emily nodded. "I ended it from the roots."
They didn't question her.
They didn't need to.
They could feel it in the wind.
In the earth.
In their bones.
Something had shifted.
The forest had released them.
Finally.
Later that day, they stood before the old sign near the trailhead. Once etched with warnings and rules, the board now bore nothing but age—its paint peeled, its surface cracked. The words HIDE AND SEEK had faded to near invisibility.
"Do you think it'll ever start again?" Leah asked softly.
Emily looked down at her.
"Maybe," she said. "But not here. Not with us."
Ava reached out and touched the sign. "So many were lost."
Emily nodded. "But we're not."
Marcus adjusted his backpack. "So what now?"
Emily smiled, faint but real.
"Now we go home."
They walked away from the forest, hand in hand, four children who had braved a nightmare and emerged whole.
But behind them, deep in the woods, a tree stood tall and still—its bark smooth, its roots quiet.
And within its hollow, a single leaf-shaped charm pulsed with faint silver light.
Waiting.
Watching.
Remembering.