Clara’s pleading eyes lingered in Ivy’s mind as she stepped away from the family room, her promise still fresh on her lips. She didn’t know what to say — what could she say? Clara was trapped, stuck in that humiliating, swollen diaper, and all Ivy could offer was a flimsy promise she wasn’t sure she could keep. She’d told herself she’d try — but try what, exactly? There was no way to unlock the gate early, and there was no way to change Clara or Eli without access to a changing table. There was nothing Ivy could do except hope bedtime came soon — and that both of them could endure their discomfort until then.

Ivy walked the quiet hallway, her mind churning. When exactly does the gate unlock? she wondered. Judging by the wall clock, they had maybe an hour before whatever twisted “bedtime ritual” Mistress had planned would begin. Hopefully, that meant an end to Clara and Eli’s ordeal. But there were no guarantees — Mistress had a way of twisting even her smallest victories into something worse.

Ivy sighed, pulling her arms tightly across her chest as she walked. She didn’t want to go back to the family room yet — the air in there felt too heavy, suffocating under the weight of whispered conversations and masked fear. Instead, she wandered deeper down the hallway, glancing at the walls, searching for anything — anything — that might offer some hint of what was coming next.

Most of the hall was just sterile white — smooth, featureless walls designed to make the place feel empty and cold. But then... something caught her eye. A faint glint — something metallic, just barely visible beneath a thin layer of paint. Ivy paused, her fingers brushing curiously over the spot.

It wasn’t a panel. It wasn’t a switch or a vent or anything obvious. It was... a plaque? A brass rectangle set into the wall, flush with the surface, so subtle it would have been easy to miss. The metal had been painted over, blending almost perfectly with the wall around it — only the faintest outline betrayed its presence.

Frowning, Ivy knelt closer, running her fingers along the edges. The paint had seeped into the grooves, but she could make out faint markings — lines, shapes, and symbols scratched into the brass. Some were geometric — diamonds, triangles, a winding spiral. Others seemed more abstract — curving lines that reminded her of vines or flowing water. It was... strange. Strange and deliberate.

Ivy leaned in, studying it closely. The symbols weren’t random — there was a pattern here, though she couldn’t quite see what it meant. Some of the shapes were clustered together, others spaced apart. At the center was a large circle divided into segments, almost like a clock face — or a compass. Lines radiated outward from the circle’s core, connecting to some of the outer symbols.

Her eyes traced those lines, following them as they snaked across the plaque’s surface. Certain shapes seemed to mirror others — paired triangles, matching spirals. The more she looked, the more she felt as though it was some kind of map — a guide to something hidden just beneath the surface.

But what was it showing her?

She tried to make sense of the pattern, mouthing the shapes under her breath as she traced her fingers along the grooves. Some parts felt like they should be familiar — the spirals reminded her of the designs in the trial rooms, the triangles like those painted on the doors. She swore she even recognized a shape that resembled the symbol of a rocking horse — just barely carved into the corner.

Is this a map of the building? Ivy wondered. The winding paths, the segmented circle — was that the main arena? Were the outer shapes rooms? Was this showing the various trial chambers they’d been forced to endure?

But no... something wasn’t right. The layout didn’t match what she remembered. The angles were wrong — too sharp, too cluttered. And there were far too many paths. This place wasn’t that big... was it?

Her fingers paused over one symbol — a tiny square nestled between two spirals. It wasn’t marked in any distinct way, but something about it felt... important. She couldn’t say why — just a gut instinct. Her thumb lingered there for a moment longer, tracing the shape.

“You find something?” a voice asked behind her.

Ivy jumped, spinning to find Finn standing a few feet away, his eyes flicking curiously between her and the wall. His face was still weary, but his gaze had sharpened — alert, watchful.

“I... I don’t know,” Ivy said, stepping aside so he could see. “It’s... some kind of map, I think. Or maybe a puzzle? I can’t tell.”

Finn frowned, stepping closer. He knelt beside her, his fingers brushing the plaque’s surface just as hers had. He traced a few of the lines, his expression darkening.

“This is weird,” he muttered. “This place doesn’t have that many rooms... unless...” His voice trailed off.

“Unless what?” Ivy pressed.

Finn shook his head, his fingers still tracing the symbols. “Unless there’s more we haven’t seen yet,” he said grimly. “Hidden rooms... hidden halls. Places we haven’t been allowed to go.”

Ivy swallowed hard. The idea felt... unsettling. They’d all assumed they understood the layout — that the trials, the changing rooms, the family room... that those were all there was. But what if there was more? What if this place was bigger — far bigger — than they had realized?

“What do you think it means?” Ivy asked softly.

Finn’s fingers stopped at the same square she’d lingered on — that small, insignificant mark that still felt important somehow. His eyes narrowed. “I don’t know,” he said. “But... I think we need to find out.”

Ivy’s fingers traced the lines on the plaque one last time, her mind churning with frustration. They had spent nearly twenty minutes trying to decipher its meaning — following lines, matching symbols, connecting patterns — but it was no use. The design felt like a language just barely out of reach, its meaning veiled beneath some hidden logic neither she nor Finn could unravel. The longer she stared, the more her mind twisted in circles.

And the whole time, a gnawing guilt churned in her stomach. I should have been with Clara and Eli... I should have checked on them... But what could she have done? They were trapped behind that gate, and she had no way to change them until bedtime anyway. They’ll understand, she told herself, but the words felt hollow.

The sharp crackle of the speakers jolted her from her thoughts.

“Attention, my precious little ones...” Mistress’s voice cooed through the overhead speakers. “It’s bedtime! All babies are to report to their cribs for tuck-in time.”

Ivy’s stomach sank. Already? She glanced at the clock — it was too early. Previous nights had given the babies more time before the ritual began, more time to unwind before being locked in their cribs. But tonight... the mistress was calling for them early. Why?

Finn stood beside her, his expression tight. “That’s not right,” he muttered. “It’s too soon.”

“I know,” Ivy agreed. The earlier bedtime didn’t sit well with her either. But whatever Mistress had planned — whatever twisted game she was playing — there was no stopping it now.

With a reluctant sigh, Ivy turned away from the plaque. She and Finn shared a grim look — the kind that carried an unspoken understanding — before they quietly made their way back toward the family room.

The room had grown oddly still since Ivy’s last visit. The cartoon still flickered away on the screen, but none of the babies were watching anymore. Clara and Eli sat where she had left them, both looking miserable, their mittened hands resting weakly against their distended diapers. The swollen bulk between their legs had deepened in color — dark and sagging — and Ivy felt her stomach twist at the sight. She had waited too long.

“Come on,” Ivy said softly, stepping through the gate as it slid open for her. “Let’s get you both cleaned up.”

Neither Clara nor Eli protested. Their relief was plain as they shuffled forward on their hands and knees, following Ivy out into the hall like prisoners being led to parole. Finn trailed quietly behind with his charges, none of the caregivers daring to speak. The air felt heavy, thick with unspoken dread.

In the changing room, Ivy helped Eli up onto the table first. The moment his back hit the cushioned surface, the mechanical restraints locked around his wrists and ankles, pinning him in place as the table buzzed to life. His sleeper’s seams unzipped automatically, peeling back to expose his discolored, bloated diaper.

“God...” Ivy muttered under her breath. The thing looked miserable—swollen, sagging, and stained deep yellow with use. Eli’s face was tight, and his eyes squeezed shut as if he were trying to escape from the moment mentally.

“I’ll be quick,” Ivy promised, and she meant it.

She worked fast, her hands moving with practiced efficiency. Unfasten the diaper tabs, pull the foul thing away, wipe him down, powder him, get a fresh diaper, and reseal the sleeper — all done in less than a minute. The relief on Eli’s face was immediate, his body sagging into the table with an exhausted sigh. The sleeper zipped itself closed again, locking him back in — but at least now he looked comfortable.

“There,” Ivy said, forcing a smile. “Better?”

Eli gave a faint nod. 

Ivy helped him down and turned to Clara, who was already crawling onto the table, her face pinched with discomfort. The table’s restraints snapped down over her limbs, and Ivy wasted no time. Clara’s diaper was no better than Eli’s — swollen to near bursting, her face flushed with the humiliation of knowing just how bad it had gotten. Ivy didn’t say a word — there was no point. Clara already knew.

She worked as quickly as before, peeling Clara’s sodden diaper away and replacing it with a clean one. The moment the powder hit her skin, Clara sighed in relief, her shoulders relaxing at last. Once Ivy hit the final button, the sleeper zipped itself back up, and Clara slid down to the floor beside Eli.

Both of them knelt quietly for a moment, reluctant to move and hesitant to face what was coming next. Ivy knelt beside them, offering each a small squeeze on the shoulder before quietly guiding them toward the hall.

They crawled slowly — their faces tight, their movements heavy. The soft crinkle of their diapers filled the silence. Clara kept her head down, her pacifier still wedged firmly in her mouth, while Eli chewed anxiously on his own. Neither of them had the energy to complain. They were spent — mentally and physically drained from whatever twisted design Mistress had forced upon them.

The cribs awaited them in the large sleeping area — rows of towering, white-painted monstrosities lined in neat rows. Each crib’s bars gleamed faintly under the overhead lights, their locking mechanisms poised like jaws waiting to snap shut.

Clara paused just short of hers, glancing back at Ivy with wide, pleading eyes — as though Ivy might still find a way to stop all this, to fix something that couldn’t be fixed. Ivy knelt beside her, her voice barely a whisper.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Ivy promised.

Clara nodded reluctantly, her shoulders slumping as she crawled up into her crib. The bars locked shut behind her with a mechanical click. Moments later, Eli’s crib followed suit.

Ivy stood at the edge of the room, watching as the other babies were tucked away—one by one, helpless behind those towering bars. The room darkened slowly, and the overhead lights dimmed to a soft, unsettling glow. A faint, tinny lullaby spilled from unseen speakers, the familiar, syrupy-sweet tones of Naomi and Oliver drifting in like a mocking whisper.

Ivy knew it was coming. Mistress’s voice slithered from the speakers, her sweet yet predatory tone cooling the air. “It’s bedtime, my precious caregivers... After all, you need your rest, too! Don’t forget to get ready before climbing into bed.” The voice practically dripped with smug satisfaction, as if Mistress knew exactly how powerless Ivy felt at that moment.

Ivy rolled her eyes, muttering a curse under her breath as she stepped into the caregiver changing room. Her bladder still ached — a dull, persistent pressure that had been nagging at her since dinner. She hated the idea of using her diaper, hated the sheer humiliation of it... but she hated the alternative even more. The last thing she wanted was to crawl into her crib and be forced to soak herself in the middle of the night like some helpless infant.

“Better now than later,” she muttered to herself.

Closing her eyes, she forced her muscles to relax. The warmth spread beneath her, soaking into the padding, and her face burned with shame despite her best efforts to remind herself this was the lesser humiliation. She could change right away, get cleaned up before bedtime, and never have to think about it again.

But as she stepped up to the changing table, her brow furrowed. It didn’t offer her a fresh diaper. Instead, a small screen flickered to life on the wall beside her, glowing faintly with a message:

"Please lie down. Your change will begin shortly."

Ivy froze, dread curling in her chest. No... no, not this…

The memories of the changing tables from the earlier days in the trials surged back — the straps, the humiliating restraint, the cold, mechanical precision of being handled like a helpless doll. She swallowed hard. The room wouldn’t let her leave now — she knew that. Once you entered the caregiver changing room, you weren’t allowed to leave unless you were “properly dressed.” She was stuck.

With a frustrated sigh, Ivy hoisted herself onto the padded surface of the table, her heart hammering faster than it should have. The moment her back touched the cushioned surface, the straps shot out — firm and unrelenting — snapping around her wrists and ankles like metal jaws. Ivy flinched, instinctively jerking her arms against the bindings, but they held fast.

“Great...” she muttered, her cheeks already flushing.

The table buzzed, and she braced herself, closing her eyes and waiting for the cold air to hit her skin as her sleeper unzipped and the wet diaper was pulled away. Instead... she felt something else — a mechanical arm tugging her sleeper upward, zipping the garment fully up her back. The zipper’s teeth clicked together one by one, rising all the way to the top of her neck until she felt the soft fabric brush against her chin.

“What... wait, what are you—?!” Ivy gasped, her voice rising in panic.

The arms weren’t stopping. Her feet were guided into booties — warm, padded things that pressed tightly against her skin. Then her hands were seized, mittens slipping on like overstuffed pillows, trapping her fingers in useless puffs of cloth.

“Wait! Stop! STOP!” Ivy thrashed, tugging hard against the straps, her voice rising with desperation. “This isn’t right! I’m supposed to—"

The pacifier appeared from nowhere — a cold rubber bulb that pressed between her lips before she could turn her head. Ivy’s muffled protest was swallowed in an instant as the bulb inflated in her mouth, locking itself tightly behind her teeth. Her jaw ached from the pressure, her tongue pushing uselessly against the firm, rubbery seal.

“Mmmph!” she groaned, writhing weakly against the straps. Her diaper squished beneath her with every movement, warm and swollen, pressing against her uncomfortably.

The changing table gave a soft mechanical chime — as though it had finished dressing her perfectly — and the restraints clicked open. The table’s robotic arms reached down, scooping Ivy beneath her arms and setting her down gently on the floor. Her padded rear squished heavily beneath her as she landed, her legs spreading awkwardly beneath the bulk.

Finn stood in the doorway, frozen in place. His eyes widened slightly as he took in the sight — Ivy’s puffed-out mittened hands, the absurdly padded sleeper, the ridiculous pacifier locked in her mouth. She groaned again — mortified beyond words — squirming miserably as she pushed herself to her knees.

“Wonderful...” Finn muttered dryly, running a hand down his face. His eyes flicked toward the other changing tables, clearly dreading what awaited him. “Guess that’s tonight’s ‘fun’ new surprise...”

As if to make things worse, a mechanical arm extended from the table once more — this time holding Ivy’s bear. The stuffed toy was practically shoved into her chest, its fuzzy warmth pressing uncomfortably against her already humiliated body. The bear’s glassy eyes seemed to twinkle knowingly, its stitched smile somehow mocking.

“Great... just perfect...” Ivy thought bitterly, her pacifier muffling her frustrated sigh.

Finn grimaced, glancing at her with sympathy. “Looks like you’re one of the babies tonight,” he muttered.

Ivy’s eyes narrowed as she glared up at him. She wanted to snap back, to tell him he would probably end up the same in a few minutes. But the pacifier muffled everything — her retort dying behind the rubber bulb — leaving her only able to shoot him a furious look.

Finn smirked faintly, shaking his head. “Yeah... figures.” He turned toward his table, sighing as he muttered, “Let’s get this over with...”

Ivy sat on the floor of the changing room, her mittened hands pressed awkwardly against her thighs, her pacifier bobbing slightly as she breathed heavily through her nose. The warm bulk of her swollen diaper pressed against her skin, her sleeper clinging tightly like a second layer of shame. She barely noticed the bear tucked beneath her arm — its presence was both humiliating and strangely comforting. The embarrassment was still raw, her cheeks still flushed. But at least she wasn’t alone.

Finn shifted beside her, glancing down at his own absurdly padded sleeper, his mittens flexing uselessly against the floor. His expression was tight — half frustration, half grim acceptance. Ivy had to fight back a smile. He wasn’t getting out of this unscathed, either.

“You know,” Ivy muttered through her pacifier, her words thick and garbled. “You... you look good like that.”

Finn shot her a glare, his pacifier bobbing between his lips. “Mmmph,” he grunted, his expression deeply unamused.

Ivy couldn’t help herself — she grinned. Her muffled giggle came out as a soft, awkward snort through the pacifier, and Finn’s glare only deepened.

“You’d better hope you’re the last one,” Finn mumbled, his voice distorted by the rubber bulb. “Otherwise, you’re gonna pay for that.”

Ivy was about to respond — some witty remark she barely had the energy to muster — when the door to the changing room slid open once more. Another caregiver entered, his eyes landing immediately on them both. He stopped in his tracks, his face falling.

“Oh, come on...” the boy groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Seriously?”

Ivy and Finn exchanged a look — one of mutual satisfaction — before obediently crawling past him, the door unlocking with a mechanical click to permit them through. The boy’s grumbled curses followed them down the hall.

Crawling was miserable. The mittens made her hands clumsy and awkward, offering little grip on the smooth floor. Each motion felt exaggerated. Her limbs ached as she shuffled forward, and the thick padding between her legs forced her to waddle even on her hands and knees. The effort strained the muscles in her back and arms, and by the time they reached the sleeping area, her shoulders were burning.

Finn flopped down heavily beside her, rolling onto his side with an exhausted groan. Ivy collapsed as well, leaning against the wall as she caught her breath. Both of them lay sprawled across the cold floor, chests rising and falling with ragged breaths. Even with the pacifiers muffling them, their exhaustion was plain.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

“I can’t believe this,” Finn muttered finally, his voice thick with frustration. “I can’t believe they’re doing this to us now... caregivers or not.”

Ivy shook her head. “They’re... they’re just tightening the leash,” she said softly, her words clumsy around the pacifier. “Pushing us more... seeing what we’ll tolerate.”

Finn scoffed. “I’m pretty sure we’re past the point of tolerating anything.”

Ivy’s gaze drifted upward toward the row of cribs — cold, gleaming bars stretching high above the mattresses inside. She shuddered. “I really don’t want to get in there,” she whispered.

Finn followed her gaze, his expression darkening. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Me neither.”

But they both knew there was no choice. The cribs were inevitable — another layer of control, another step in Mistress’s endless game. They’d both be locked away soon enough, sealed behind those bars like everyone else.

Ivy’s fingers instinctively tightened around the bear. She didn’t even know why she still held it — the stupid thing felt so childish in her arms. But... it had helped her. It had warned her. And now, holding it against her chest, she felt like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

Beside her, Finn shifted slightly. His eyes softened, and he scooted closer until his arm brushed against hers. Neither of them said anything, but after a moment, Ivy turned toward him. His presence was warm — solid, and reassuring in a way nothing else in this place seemed to be.

“Hey,” he muttered quietly, barely loud enough to hear.

“Yeah?”

“You’re doing good,” he said. “You’ve been... you’ve been good at this. With Clara, with Eli... with all of it.”

Ivy’s breath hitched. She turned her head away, blinking back sudden tears. “I don’t feel like I’m doing good,” she muttered.

“You are,” Finn insisted, his voice firm. “You’re keeping it together. You’re keeping them together. That’s... that’s more than most of us are managing.”

Ivy gave a bitter laugh. “Yeah... sure.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

And then, without thinking, Ivy scooted closer — just a little. Finn shifted, too, his arm reaching across her back, drawing her in. They didn’t speak — they didn’t need to. She leaned her head against his shoulder, her bear clutched tightly in her lap, her mittened hand pressing it close. Finn’s arm curled around her, holding her there.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Ivy let herself relax, just for a moment.

“See you after the trial,” Finn murmured.

Ivy swallowed hard, closing her eyes.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “See you then.”

Ivy climbed reluctantly into her crib, the cold metal bars sliding shut behind her with a mechanical click that seemed to echo far louder than it should have. That sound — sharp and final — marked the end of her choices for the night. The latch sealed with a dull thud, the tiny red light above it blinking steadily as if to remind her that no amount of pushing or pulling would set her free. She was trapped now, just like Clara, just like Eli — just like every other contestant who had crawled miserably into these awful cages.

With a sigh, Ivy settled back against the mattress. The bear — that ridiculous bear — lay on her chest, its button eyes glinting faintly in the dim glow of the overhead lights. The plush fur was soft beneath her fingertips, but the comfort it once offered now felt sour. She should have felt grateful to have it — the stupid thing had helped her, after all — but somehow, it felt more like brand new, like some marker that separated her from the others. A whisper of Mistress’s presence — subtle, invasive, and impossible to shake.

She stared at the bear, her eyes tracing its stitched smile, her mind spiraling with thoughts she didn’t want to face. What am I even doing here? She wondered. Why am I still playing this stupid game? There was no winning in this place — no glory, no triumph, no end that could make this worth enduring. Day after day, she followed the rules, jumped through Mistress’s twisted hoops, swallowed her pride, and let herself be humiliated. And for what? For another day of surviving? Another night spent trapped in this padded cell of a crib?

She should be furious. She wanted to be furious — wanted to scream and curse and rage against this nightmare of prison — but she couldn’t even summon the energy for anger anymore. Just tried resignation. She was tired — tired enough that even her shame and frustration couldn’t keep her from sinking deeper into the mattress. Exhaustion weighed down her limbs, her body growing heavier by the second. If there was one small mercy in this place, it was the sleep — the one thing Mistress hadn’t corrupted yet. No twisted games, no cruel tricks. Just... quiet. Restful and uninterrupted.

The bear shifted slightly on her chest, and Ivy shifted too, curling around it as if the warmth might somehow chase away the cold ache gnawing inside her.

What choice do I even have? She wondered again. She couldn’t quit — not anymore. Contestant 86 had proven that much. And what would quitting even mean now? Would she just... vanish like that boy had? Dragged into the Naughty Room, erased from their world like he’d never existed? Or worse — would she become some permanent fixture here, trapped in perpetual infancy, unable to think, unable to be anything more than some mindless doll for Mistress to toy with?

Ivy swallowed hard. The Naughty Room. The very thought of it sent chills racing down her spine. She turned her head, her gaze drifting to the far wall — the one that led to that door. The door stood silent and waiting, its cold metal edges gleaming faintly in the half-light. It wasn’t locked — not really — but no one dared to approach it. No one wanted to. Ivy had heard the stories and had seen what happened to the contestants who left it. They came back and changed. Quieter. Weaker. Some barely spoke at all, their eyes glassy and vacant like the light had been snuffed out inside them. Others cried for days — hollow, wordless sobs like the pain they felt couldn’t be described.

What does she do to them? Ivy wondered. She didn’t know — no one did — but whatever horrors lay beyond that door were enough to keep even the most rebellious contestants obedient. Mistress never needed to enforce the rules with brute strength — she just let the fear do the work for her. The Naughty Room was a threat, whispered so loudly no one dared to test it.

Ivy shivered, curling tighter around her bear as the fear gnawed deeper into her mind. She wasn’t brave. She wasn’t strong. She had no clever plan, no grand scheme to break free. All she had was the desperate hope that she could endure long enough to outlast the others. And that was the part that scared her most — the knowledge that her only strategy was to keep surviving, one humiliating step at a time.

“Just keep going... just keep going...” she whispered into her pacifier, the soft rubber muffling her words.

The lullaby began — that same sickly-sweet melody that droned on every night — and Ivy shut her eyes tight. The bear’s fur tickled her cheek as she squeezed it close. She hated this. Hated the feeling of helplessness that sank into her bones each night as the cribs locked them all in like prisoners. Hated the endless trials, the whispered threats, and the mounting pressure that seemed to tighten around her chest with each passing day.

But she had no choice. Not yet.

And so, Ivy lay there in the dim light, clutching her bear like a lifeline, listening to the sickly-sweet lullaby drone on and on — a twisted serenade to her surrender.

The muffled sounds of footsteps echoed faintly through the hallway, muted by the thick walls but still distinct enough for Ivy to recognize them — the last of the caregivers returning to their cribs. The mechanical locks clunked one after another, sealing each contestant away in their sterile metal cages. The quiet that followed was suffocating, a heavy stillness that seemed to press down on her chest. The soft chime of the overhead speakers confirmed what she already knew — lights out. The dim glow overhead faded into total darkness, leaving her alone in the gloom, her breathing the only sound she could hear.

Ivy stared down at the bear resting on her chest, its button eyes glinting faintly in the shadows. The stitched smile — innocent and childlike — felt different now. Mocking. Knowing. Something about it unsettled her in a way she couldn’t explain.

“Any more sage advice?” she muttered bitterly, her voice muffled by the pacifier still wedged firmly in her mouth. She hugged the bear to her chest, more out of frustration than comfort, and held it to her ear with an exaggerated sigh. “I could use some good news for once...”

But the bear didn’t offer comfort.

“You aren’t done today...” it whispered, its voice soft and thin, yet sharp as a needle. “Prepare yourself. Another trial is about to begin.”

Ivy shot bolt upright, her heart hammering against her ribs. A cold rush of adrenaline surged through her veins, washing away the grogginess that had begun to drag her toward sleep. Panic coiled tight in her chest as her breath quickened. Another trial? Now?! That wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Mistress never ran trials during the night. The schedule — twisted as it was — had always been predictable. Morning routine, trial, meals, punishments, evening routine... bedtime. That was the pattern. That was the only structure they had in this place, the only thing that kept her grounded.

And now... that was changing?

“No...” Ivy whispered through her pacifier, her voice thin and strangled. “No, no, no... that’s not right...”

She shifted in her crib, fumbling awkwardly with her mittened hands, pressing against the bars as though she might somehow slip between them. Of course, the bars held firm — cold, unyielding steel with no give. The air inside her crib suddenly felt stifling, her breath hot against the pacifier’s rubber bulb. Her mind spun in frantic circles. What could she even do? If there was another trial coming, there was no way to prepare, no way to resist. She couldn’t even get out of her crib.

Her gaze flicked toward the sleeping area’s far wall — toward the cold, shadowed outline of the Naughty Room door. Even in the dark, she could feel its presence — looming, patient, hungry. Ivy’s breath hitched, and she squeezed the bear tighter against her chest. Her mind filled with images of what had happened to that boy — Contestant 86 — the sheer panic in his face as he was dragged inside. She could still hear his muffled cries in her mind, the desperate, pleading words that had been cut short the moment that terrible door sealed him away.

The minutes stretched on, slow and painful. Her pulse roared in her ears, her fingers curling helplessly inside her padded mittens. She lay back against the mattress, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the inevitable. She could feel the tension twisting in her gut, the ache of her muscles coiled too tight.

Maybe the bear’s wrong... she tried to convince herself. Maybe this is just another mind game — another cruel trick. She forced herself to breathe slower, deeper. Maybe it’s nothing…

But just as her racing heart began to slow... the speakers crackled to life.

“Attention, my precious little ones...” Mistress’s voice purred, her tone far too sweet to be genuine. “I know, I know... it’s been such a long day, hasn’t it? But... I think we can squeeze in one more little game before bed...”