The door swings shut behind Agent Mills as she leaves, and for a moment, the room is quiet. I glance at Sara, who’s hugging her knees on the edge of the couch. Lily’s standing with her back to the wall, arms crossed, her lips pressed tight, like she’s deep in thought. Tim’s pacing again, his footsteps making that annoying rhythm I’ve heard too much of lately. It’s only been a couple of minutes since we finished the debrief, but it feels longer.

The room feels stuffy, and I wonder when the last time anyone bothered to open a window in this place was. Probably never.

Then, the door opens again, and a man walks in. Crisp suit, clean-cut, all business. He carries himself like he owns the place.

“Good afternoon,” he says, voice firm, steady. “I’m Director Hawkins. I’d like to speak with you all privately, if you’re willing.”

Tim stops mid-step and narrows his eyes. “What’s this about?”

Hawkins’s gaze sweeps across the room, pausing on each of us for just a second longer than comfortable. “I understand you’ve been through a lot recently,” he says. “But you’re the only ones we know of with firsthand experience navigating these dungeons. We need to learn more about how the ‘system’ is affecting you. I’m proposing some non-invasive assessments.”

Tim snorts. “Assessments? Yeah, right.”

Hawkins doesn’t react to Tim’s sarcasm. Instead, he turns his attention back to me, like I’m the one he needs to convince. “These tests could help us understand what you’ve been through—and help us prepare for what’s coming.”

I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. There’s a part of me that wants to tell him no, just to see what happens. But there’s another part of me—the part that’s been itching for answers since the first time we got trapped—that can’t ignore what he’s offering.

Tim’s still pacing, shaking his head. “And what happens if we say no?”

Hawkins straightens. “That’s your choice. But understand that you’re not the only ones affected by these dungeons. The more we know, the better prepared we’ll be to deal with them.” He glances at Lily and Sara. “We won’t force you to do anything. But I think you’ll want to see what we’re offering before you make a decision.”

The room falls into silence again. Tim stops pacing, but his jaw’s tight, fists clenched like he’s ready for a fight. He looks at me with a frown, waiting.

“Fine. We can take a look first,” I say.

Hawkins nods, taking it as enough. “Follow me. I’ll take you to the medical wing. It’s just down the hall.”

The walk feels longer than it is. The sterile white walls of the building shift from bland and office-like to clinical as we get closer. I catch glimpses of people in lab coats, a few machines beeping in the background. It feels cold, and impersonal, like stepping into a different world.

When we reach the medical wing, a team of professionals is already there, waiting. Hawkins introduces them as doctors, specialists. They seem professional enough, but I can tell Sara’s nervous by the way she keeps twisting her fingers together.

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“You’ll be in good hands,” Hawkins says, gesturing to the equipment. “This is just the initial assessment.”

Surprisingly, Tim steps forward before anyone else can. “I’ll go first.”

None of us expected that. He’s usually the one who hangs back, lets someone else take the hit first. But now, he’s walking right up to the exam table, pulling off his jacket like it’s no big deal. Maybe he’s trying to prove something.

The doctors murmur to each other as they prep him, adjusting wires and machines around him. Tim doesn’t say much, just watches them, his mouth set in a thin line. I catch Lily’s eye, and she shrugs, looking just as confused as I am by this sudden shift.

The machines beep to life, and there’s a brief moment of stillness, like everyone’s holding their breath. Then, it happens.

Tim stiffens. A strange glow starts to pulse around him—faint at first, but it grows brighter, more intense. His eyes go wide, but he doesn’t say anything.

One of the doctors leans in, frowning at the monitor. “What’s—”

Before he can finish, Tim jerks, and there’s a burst of energy, an invisible shockwave that knocks over equipment and sends people stumbling back. The lights flicker. One of the machines sparks and fizzles out.

“Stop!” someone shouts, but it’s too late. The room’s in chaos. A few doctors scramble to contain the situation, while the rest of us watch, too stunned to move.

Sara’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide with panic. Lily’s already moving, pulling Sara back as a piece of equipment clatters to the floor.

Tim’s still sitting on the exam table, breathing hard. The glow around him fades, and he looks down at his hands, confusion written all over his face.

Hawkins appears in the doorway, taking in the scene with a calm that seems almost unnatural. He doesn’t look surprised. “We need to talk,” he says, directing his words at Tim but glancing at the rest of us.

We’re ushered out of the medical wing and into a conference room nearby. Hawkins paces in front of us, hands behind his back, like he’s thinking over his words carefully before speaking.

“Your abilities are more volatile than we anticipated,” he says, his tone measured. “It’s clear we need to approach this differently.”

Tim’s still sitting with his arms crossed, not looking at anyone. His foot taps against the floor in an uneven rhythm.

“Differently how?” Lily asks, her voice steady but with an edge that wasn’t there before.

Hawkins stops pacing. “We need to train you. Controlled testing, learning to harness these abilities. It’s the only way to ensure your safety—and the safety of others.”

“You mean you want to turn us into weapons,” Tim mutters, barely loud enough to hear.

Hawkins shake his head. “No. That's not true. But we do need to understand the threat these dungeons pose and finding a way to combat them. You’re a part of that, whether you like it or not.”

The room is silent. Sara shifts in her seat, her eyes fixed on the table. Lily looks between me and Tim, waiting for someone to speak up.

I don’t know what to say. Hawkins is right—we can’t ignore what’s happening. But I don’t like the idea of being a pawn in someone else’s game.

“We need time to think,” I finally say, my voice sounding steadier than I feel. “We’ll decide by tomorrow.”

Hawkins nods once. “Take the night. But understand—this isn’t something that can wait forever.”

With that, he leaves the room, and we’re left sitting there, knowing that whatever choice we make, nothing will ever be the same again.