The carnival funhouse wasn’t fun. It was a nightmare in cheap paint and glass.

Every mirror twisted her face into something she didn’t recognise—stretched, shrunk, wrong. Floors sticky enough to grab her shoes with every step, like the place didn’t want to let her go. The calliope music wasn’t cheerful—it was loud enough to rattle her teeth, all jangly and off-beat like it was trying to mess with her head.

Her heart—God—it wasn’t beating normal. It kept slamming in weird bursts, like it forgot the rhythm. And all she could hear, over the stupid music, was Ellen’s voice on that recorder: Ellie’s my second chance. Over and over. Then the...