The haunted house was dark enough that most people would have struggled to make out more than a few feet ahead, but Akio walked through it as if he were strolling down a well lit hallway. Every creak of the floorboards, every poorly timed hiss of an air pump, every shift of fabric behind a corner registered to him long before it sprang into motion.

  Beside him, Damien moved with equal calm, hands tucked neatly in his pockets, expression composed in that distinctly unimpressed way only he could manage.

  Aira had insisted they go separately—"You two will ruin the experience," she’d said—so now they were drifting through the attraction like two critics judging an avant-garde student film.

  Another flimsy ghost dropped from the ceiling. Akio sidestepped politely.

  A zombie lurched from behind a fridge door. Damien raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

  They navigated the dim, fog filled corridors with the detached ease of two men evaluating brushstrokes at a museum. Ahead, the corridor dipped into another tight turn. Akio slowed, feeling the shift of weight and air pressure from the other side.

  Another jumpscare coming up.

  He was right.

  A figure burst out from the darkness—a towering wendigo costume complete with bone white antlers, elongated limbs, and a guttural roar blasted through hidden speakers.

  Akio stopped—not because he was startled, but because he was delighted. His eyes lit up with genuine interest.

  “Oh,” he murmured, stepping a little closer, “what a unique choice of costume. Did you know wendigos traditionally symbolize starvation, selfishness, and greed within Algonquian folklore?”

  The performer inside the suit froze. There was a long, confused beat as the creature tilted its head, clearly unsure whether to attempt a second scare or flee the scene entirely.

  Damien finally spoke, voice drifting in like a cold critique. He stood with his arms crossed, staring at the creature as if offended on a personal level.

  “It’s inaccurate,” he said flatly. “Of course they gave it deer antlers. This is an insult to anyone who knows the history.”

  Akio raised an eyebrow, amused. “This is a modern depiction. It still qualifies as a wendigo.”

  “The modern depiction is popular,” Damien countered, “but popularity does not equal accuracy. The source material is different and the antlers are a meaningless western embellishment.”

  The wendigo actor looked between them helplessly. “…Uh. Sirs? I just work here. I don’t know what a wendigo is. Could you maybe—go? Please?”

  Akio straightened instantly, all politeness. “Ah. Our apologies.”

  Damien brushed past the creature with a dismissive flick of his hand. “Tell whoever runs this place to get the wendigo right next time. And the jump scares.”

  The performer wilted slightly.

  Akio followed Damien deeper into the maze, amusement tugging at his mouth as another terrified employee pressed flat against the wall to avoid Damien’s dead eyed stare. He smirked lightly.

  “At this point, I’m not sure if the house is haunted or if you’re the one haunting it.”

  Damien returned the smirk without breaking stride. “If I were haunting it, it wouldn’t be this mediocre.”

  Akio let out a soft, mock thoughtful hum. “Considering your track record, I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

  Damien waved him off, the gesture elegant and dismissive all at once. “Please. As if you’re one to talk.”

  They continued forward and the next hallway opened into a narrow passage framed by black metal gates. Fog poured in from hidden vents, swallowing the floor in pale coils. The moment they stepped through, the ground hummed—then shifted beneath their feet.

  Panels moved in timed intervals. Silhouettes of animatronics flickered behind sheets of haze, lit only by thin slits of white and red light. Mechanical groans echoed from deeper inside the maze.

  Akio raised his brows, genuinely impressed. “Huh. They actually had a budget.”

  Damien nodded once, conceding. “Perhaps this place does have some redeeming qualities.”

  They weaved through the moving panels with unbothered ease—two people too accustomed to real danger to be fazed by mechanical funhouse tricks. Akio kept his senses open out of habit, reading the shifting air currents, the metallic groans of the animatronics—when something changed.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  A subtle difference in pressure. The faintest vibration rattling the floor beneath his feet.

  Before the thought fully formed, instinct struck like lightning.

  Akio’s eyes snapped left just as a grinding roar split the air—metal tearing, bolts snapping, machinery collapsing. A heavy animatronic limb came plunging down toward them. He stepped back and grabbed Damien’s arm, yanking him out of the way an instant before the machinery slammed into the floor.

  CRASH.

  The impact shook the ground, fog blasting outward with the force. Shattered pieces of metal and wiring scattered across the ground. The animatronic—a tall, skeletal creature half hidden in haze—lay toppled in a heap.

  Akio exhaled once, steady and controlled.

  The machinery wasn’t enough to kill outright—but at that speed, that mass? Someone standing directly beneath it would’ve been crushed. He assessed the damage in a glance: loose bolts, old supports, too much strain on a single hinge.

  Then, realization struck.

  He was still holding Damien’s arm.

  Akio looked over, expecting shock or irritation or at least some reaction to nearly being crushed by a malfunctioning animatronic. Instead, Damien wasn’t even looking at the fallen machinery.

  He was looking at him.

  Those sharp orange eyes were steady, unblinking, fixed with a chilling clarity that seemed to cut through the haze. Damien’s expression was calm, unreadable, but there was something else beneath it—something too focused, too precise. A faint, almost imperceptible trace of unease.

  Akio met his gaze. A beat of tension settled between them—quiet, taut, strangely intimate. It stretched just long enough for both of them to register how close they stood, how tightly Akio’s fingers still curled around Damien’s sleeve.

  Akio released his hand and brushed his palms against his pants. He straightened and cleared his throat with the calculated nonchalance of someone pretending he’d absolutely not just grabbed his academic rival like they were in a life or death drama.

  “Well,” he said dryly, “that’s definitely a safety violation.”

  Damien smoothed out his shirt, posture returning to effortless elegance. He didn’t look bothered—if anything, he looked faintly amused. “You’re stronger than you look.”

  Akio gave a quiet huff.

  He doesn’t know I’m the Dawn Hound. Of course he’d be surprised.

  “It’s called exercise,” he replied lightly. “You should give it a try sometime.”

  Damien didn’t miss a beat. “I recommend you give critical thinking a try sometime.”

  Akio smirked, already assembling a retort when a sudden whirring noise cut him off.

  A low tremor rippled through the floor. Then the lights snapped out one by one, plunging the maze into a suffocating dimness. The machinery shuddered to a halt. Fog thickened, swallowing the corridors. All that remained was a faint emergency glow somewhere deep within the maze—barely enough to outline the jagged shapes of broken animatronics and half opened paths.

  Akio scanned their surroundings. Low visibility. No clear direction. The entire attraction had gone still, quiet enough that even the air felt heavy.

  Given the conditions, finding our way out won’t be easy.

  He was already evaluating potential exits when Damien’s voice cut cleanly through the fog.

  “It’s this way,” Damien said, tone crisp, absolutely certain.

  Akio blinked. “Really?”

  Damien shot him a sideways glance. “Do you want to leave or not?”

  Akio raised an eyebrow, slightly caught off guard by the confidence. There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation—Damien was already moving, striding ahead like he had already memorized the layout.

  Akio followed, quiet amusement tugging at his mouth. They made their way through the now disabled mechanical maze, fog clinging to the air like damp breath. With the lights dead, the only illumination came from the faint pulse of emergency strips hidden beneath the floor grates—just barely enough for Akio to register outlines and shifting shadows.

  He stayed close behind Damien out of practicality, not preference. The corridors twisted in abrupt angles and narrow choke points, some parts half collapsed, others groaning faintly under their own weight.

  But what unsettled Akio wasn’t the darkness.

  It was Damien.

  The man didn’t slow. Not once. He didn’t hesitate at intersections, didn’t waver at branching paths, didn’t even lift a hand to feel for walls. He simply walked—confident, purposeful—like he already knew the route. Like the maze wasn’t confusing or dangerous at all.

  Damien had always been self assured, but this felt different. Too precise. Too seamless. It was as if he were reading the architecture itself—following an invisible map only he could see.

  Eventually, the cramped halls opened into a broader passage. Light spilled from beneath a door at the far end, bright enough to cut through the fog. Damien didn’t slow as he approached it.

  “That’s the exit,” he said simply.

  Akio followed, but his eyes remained on his companion. There was a sharpness in his gaze—quiet calculation beneath an otherwise casual expression. He slowed his steps deliberately, watching the lines of Damien’s back, the way he held himself, the almost unnatural certainty in every movement.

  Damien sensed it. He stopped a pace from the exit and glanced back. Their eyes met—orange meeting blue in the dim. A brief beat of tension passed between them, taut and silent.

  Akio kept his face unreadable. Calm. Light.

  “That was fast,” he said, voice smooth. “How’d you do that?”

  Damien blinked once, answer ready and effortless. “It’s a common maze layout. I assumed you’d recognize it.”

  Akio considered that in silence.

  It wasn’t impossible. Some attractions reused cheap templates. But the mechanical maze they’d just navigated hadn’t followed clean patterns—not after half its systems had collapsed. Damien’s explanation… didn’t sit completely right. Still, there was nothing concrete to challenge him with.

  Akio smirked softly. “You’re smarter than you look.”

  Damien arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

  Akio didn’t answer—just pushed open the exit door.

  Bright daylight washed over them as they stepped outside. Within seconds, a swarm of staff members ran over, panic written all over their faces. Front and center was the wendigo performer from earlier—now holding his mask under one arm, breathless and sweating.

  “Sirs… are you okay?” he asked, voice cracking.

  Akio nodded politely, speaking as if leaving an online review. “The placement of the fog machines was actually pretty decent. And the animatronic choices weren’t bad.”

  Damien, of course, went straight for the jugular. “It could have been executed far better if your designer had the faintest understanding of visual rhythm. As I said before—tell whoever is running this place to get it right.”

  With that, the two of them walked off.

  The staff stared after them, utterly flabbergasted.

  As they left the attraction, Akio couldn’t help the quiet smile curling at the edge of his mouth. He glanced over at Damien who was walking with his hands tucked in his pockets, that familiar air of theatrical judgement radiating from him. It was hard to think just moments ago they’d been working together to navigate a collapsed maze.

  Hmm… he’s definitely something, Akio thought.

  I'll probably keep an eye on him.

  ─ ? NEXT CHAPTER POV ? ─

  Aira