The Red String Effect

Chapter Five -- Part Three: Echoes

The coils struck like whips. Layla's cry tore though the basement as black threads wrapped around her arms and chest, searing cold, burning emptiness. Her knees buckled under the weight of them. She reached instinctively for Peter's outstretched hand, heart screaming that it was him, that she could still save him – but then the knot inside her roared. Her red thread flared, sparking violently against the black coils, resisting. The collision of colors lit the hallway in eerie glow, shadows slashing across the walls.

"Layla!"

Luca's hand grabbed her shoulder, pulling her back. Black threads erupted from his wrist, clashing with the ones binding her. The impact shook the air, a low thrumming like electricity through wires.

Peter—if it was Peter—shuddered. His face smashed, glitching between familiarity and something faceless. The voice that came out of his mouth layered into a chorus of whispers.

"She's ours."

Layla screamed, tearing against the bindings. "He's not gone! I heart him! I still hear him!" The figure lurched closer, threads lashing wildly, slamming against the walls, snapping pipes from the ceiling. Water sprayed into the air, mixing with dust, the hallway filling with a slight haze. Luca yanked Layla back against him, his arm braced across her chest. His voice was sharp in her ear. "It's not him, Layla. It's the Tangle using his voice!" But the whispers wrapped around her skull, clawing at her thoughts.

"Layla... don't leave me again."

Her heart broke. "Peter!" she sobbed, and the knot flared again, burning hot enough to make her vision go white. Threads exploded from her chest – red tangled with black – bursting outward in a violent wave. The force hurled the shadow-figure back, slamming it into the far wall. Its body writhed, convulsed, then splintered into mist that hissed and vanished into the cracks in the concrete. Silence crashed down. Layla collapsed forward onto her hands and knees, gasping, her chest heaving. The knot pulsed erratically, out of control, searing her ribs from the inside. Luca crouched beside her, his face pale, eyes fierce. "You can't listen to them. Every time you do, they tighten their grip."

Her tears blurred her vision. "But it was him. I know it. I felt it." Luca's expression didn't change, but his voice softened. "What you felt was your own memory. They'll twist it until you can't tell what's yours anymore." Layla slammed her fist against the wet floor, choking on sobs. "Then how do I know? How do I know what's real?" Luca was silent. For the first time, his silence terrified her more than the shadows.