Chapter 6

Ethan nodded.

“Traps come in flavors—physical, or mind games. Either way, dodge ‘em.”

“Rosie gets one Order per day, per person. We can refuse twice, tops.”

“Cleaning seems harmless. No one’s burning a refusal on that. But here’s the rub: what counts as accepting? Or refusing?”

Serena’s eyes lit up, connecting dots. “Someone’s checking?”

“Bet on it,” Ethan said. “Orders need proof. Spot a mess during inspection? Boom—refusal logged, chance wasted.”

“Plus, rooms might hide clues. Or hazards. Bottom line: treat this seriously.”

Ethan’s cool head had steadied them from the start, even as the Butler’s bloodbath lingered like a stain. He observed, dissected, never rattled. Having him lead? It eased the knot in their chests, loosened the grip of fear.

“Damn, Ethan—you’re sharp as a tack,” Albert said, thumbs-up. But his brow furrowed quick. “Still, gnaws at me. Seven days to survive, only two passes? Means five Orders we swallow.”

“What if he hits us with ‘off yourself’ three days running? Dead end from jump.”

Faces darkened. The Castle’s horrors replayed: the ram-headed Butler, skull-crushing a man like pulp. The “sweet” girl, shadows devouring light, fangs flashing. No normals here—not her, not her folks. Monsters all.