The warehouse was a maze of shadows.Muneer followed Rashid through the darkness, one hand on the wall to keep his bearings. Samira was behind him. Omar brought up the rear. Their footsteps echoed off concrete and metal, swallowed by the vast emptiness around them.Somewhere in the distance, the seekers were moving. Muneer could hear the teenager's voice, high and nervous, calling out to his teammates. The older woman's footsteps, slow and deliberate. The man in the suit—silent, which was somehow worse."Here," Rashid whispered.He had stopped at a section of wall that looked like every other section—gray concrete, industrial pipes running overhead. But his fingers found a seam, a hairline crack that Muneer wouldn't have noticed. He pulled, and a section of the wall swung open.It was a maintenance closet. It was narrow and dark.Rashid slipped inside first, pressing himself against the back wall. Samira followed, her scrubs rustling. Muneer stepped in as well.The darkness was absolu

The waiting room was white and empty.Muneer sat in the same corner as before. The others had spread out across the room—Ali on one wall, Omar on the opposite, Rashid near the door. No one spoke. The silence from the end of the last game had followed them here, heavier now, settling into the space between them like something solid.Muneer looked at Rashid. Rashid was staring at the floor. His hands were clasped between his knees. He had not looked at Muneer since they left the game room.Muneer wanted to say something. He didn't know what. Sorry felt too small. I didn't know felt like an excuse. He had said both already. They had changed nothing.The door opened.They rose. No one waited for anyone else. They walked through in silence.---The new room was smaller than the last. A single screen dominated the far wall. Seven chairs were arranged in a semicircle facing it. No table. No boxes. No keys. Just the screen and the chairs and the white light that came from everywhere.They sat

On the other side , Samira's voice was urgent. "Omar, you're there. The center is right in front of you. Just—"Omar's marker stopped.Samira's voice cracked. "Omar? What are you doing?"Across the map, Muneer saw it. Omar's marker had stopped at the entrance to the center. He wasn't moving.Tarek's marker was close behind. "Omar, what's wrong?"Omar's voice echoed through the maze. "You've been directing us the whole time. You haven't made a mistake. Not one."Samira was quiet."You're perfect," Omar said. "Perfect directions. Perfect timing. You haven't touched a wall. You haven't hesitated. You haven't doubted yourself once.""What's your point?""My point is that you're not a nurse giving directions to patients. You're someone who's done this before. You've been in a maze. You've been a Guide."The maze was silent."I don't know what you're talking about," Samira said."Yes you do." Omar's voice was hard. "You knew the map before you saw it. You memorized it during the ten minutes

"Discussion is complete. Players will now vote to eliminate one player. The player with the most votes leaves with nothing."The screen changed. Six names appeared."Each player will select one name. The vote is anonymous."The tablets returned. Muneer stared at his. Five names. Five people. One vote.He thought about the confessions. About his own words. About the thing he had done before he came here. About his father. About the shop.He thought about Rashid's confession. I wanted to see him fail.He thought about the confession about Omar. He thought about the confession about Samira. She wrote something on her hand.He thought about the confession about Tarek. He thought about the confession about himself. He didn't know who wrote it. Ali? Tarek? Omar? Samira? Rashid?He looked at the names. He made his choice.---The votes were cast."First elimination."The screen displayed the result:Omar: 3 votesSamira: 2 votesAli: 1 vote"Omar is eliminated. Omar leaves with nothing."Om

The train was quiet at this hour.Muneer sat by the window, watching the city lights blur past. The envelope in his pocket was thick. The money was real. He had checked three times.Thirteen thousand dollars.Enough to clear the debt. Enough to save the shop. Enough to look at himself in the mirror and not see a son who arrived too late.The woman's words echoed in his head. You never stopped being the person who gave a flower to a stranger.He didn't feel like that person. He felt tired. He felt empty. He felt like someone who had watched six people walk away with nothing so he could walk away with something.But the shop was saved. His father's shop.He closed his eyes and rested his head against the window.---The bank opened at nine.Muneer was there at eight-forty-five. He stood outside the glass doors, the envelope in his hand, watching the tellers set up their stations. A security guard unlocked the door at exactly nine."I need to pay off a loan," Muneer said. "In full."The