Chapter 8 · free to read
The string was so they could pull her back. Nobody had said aloud what might be on the other end of it when they did.
She was not screaming. That was the part nobody had prepared Mai for.
Four minutes. The handle turned nine times. It never once opened, and she never once stopped dancing.
For twenty-eight years the room had asked the same question at the same minute. Somebody had finally answered it — badly, partially, and out loud.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.