Yesterday's lunch has left us more divided than ever to the point that we preferred spending the rest of the day each on our own. I, for example, went to a renewed room where I found some art supplies—an easel with a canvas, a set of brushes, a palette and several bottles of acrylic paint.

I unleashed my fantasy with a painting dedicated to my friends. Not a realistic portrait, but an abstract composition where I imagined them as lost souls meandering in an unknown dimension as they seek the true meaning of freedom.

It makes sense, after all. It's not a concept that has the same connotation for everyone and every context. It's also something that can't have just one definition. This is what we've all struggled with since day one, especially I.

I let my painting dry for a few hours before taking to my room, hoping anyone would show up to admire it. No-one did, so I stayed by myself and turned to watching a movie on my laptop and writing on my journal before going to bed.

***

I wake up early, at 8am. Wondering where the mailbox in this mansion is, I decide to look for it. Without changing, I tiptoe down the halls; when I'm outdoors, I head towards the front gate. The mailbox's at the entrance. Now all I have to do is to open... the gate. I realize I've forgotten the keys inside.

I run back in quickly to take them, paying attention not to awaken the others. I don't care too much about it, though. I mean, why should I be worried? It's just mail—it's not like it hides deadly secrets. Perhaps just some advertising and the bills. Who pays them, by the way?

Anyway, I don't find anything of what I expect. There's only one envelope inside the mailbox—no, it's not an ad. I quickly open it and read the message written on it. 'Tomorrow at 3pm, an exciting team building exercise awaits you. Make sure to be on your highest spirits, because you need it! Yours truly, T.'

This T is definitely related to Mr. Unknown. At this point, there's no other way to put it. Meanwhile, after closing the mailbox, I go back in the perimeter of the mansion, locking the gate behind me, and return inside, where I find Anton and Lindsey already headed to the kitchen for breakfast.

"I have something to show you." I pass the note to Lindsey. "But, before, let's call Kat and Bri. They have to know."

***

The afternoon sun casts long shadows across the manicured lawn as we head off towards a gazebo in the garden. It's ornate, almost ridiculously so, with swirling ironwork and climbing roses.

This is it – the "team-building exercise" that’s listed in the note I retrieved in the mailbox. There, we realize we’re not alone. There are two individuals, a man and a woman. Both are impeccably dressed, wearing matching maroon suits with a white shirt and black tie, and black shoes.

The man’s face is familiar. That’s Mr. Unknown! Same sharp facial features, same smug smirk curling his lips. There’s no more doubt: it’s him. The woman, however, is a new face to us. Lindsey whispers to me. “She looks like she wants to murder us.” I tell her to shut up so as not to catch her attention.

“Welcome, guys,” says Mr. Unknown as we approach the gazebo, circling around him and his female counterpart. “I’ve gathered you here because my dear colleague and I have a game in mind for you. I'm sure you’ll love it.”

“What’s it?” asks Kat, enthusiastic at the idea. On the other hand, Brianna is more wary than the rest of us, as usual. There has to be a catch somehow, but I can't predict which it is.

Mr. Unknown continues, “They call it ‘The Labyrinth of Trust.’ It’s a game that has been played since 20 Days of Freedom was launched for the first time.”

“The rules are simple,” adds the woman with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. She studies our expressions of sheer terror as she explains, “You will be divided into teams of two. Each team will navigate this maze blindfolded, guided solely by the verbal instructions of their partner.” Teams of two? We’re five, though. One of us has to stay out. I hope there won’t be arguments as to who’s left out.

“The first team to complete the maze wins… a prize.” Her smile tightens. “A very special prize.”

The "prize" part hangs in the air, heavy and unsettling while it’s supposed to be something one is proud of winning.

As predicted, Anton and Kat, already start bickering playfully about who gets to be blindfolded first. They’ll turn everything into a competition and there’s nothing that can stop them.

Brianna, is rigidly silent, her eyes darting around the gazebo as if expecting an ambush. Lindsey, as always, observes with her usual quiet intensity. Their gazes never meet each other, but are fixed on the structure, as if they’ve been frozen by a spell gone wrong.

I’m paired with Brianna. She still has that shocked look on her face, because of which I have to reassure her. “Don’t worry, Bri. Everything’s okay. We’ll come out of it unscathed.”

I’ve definitely talked too early. The maze is the perfect embodiment of what I see in fantasy movies: a chaotic tangle of ropes and shrubs, deliberately disorienting, the exit nowhere to be seen. Since we haven’t got maps, we can only rely on our instinct, sense of orientation, and teamwork. It shouldn’t be that difficult, considering that I have Brianna by my side… That is, if she gathers her energy and courage to overcome her fear fast enough.

The air thickens with the scent of freshly cut grass. But that’s not the only smell I sense. There’s something else, kind of metallic. I doubt it has anything to do with a car—I haven’t seen a parking valet in the surroundings since I came here with the group.

Brianna's grip on my arm is so tight that it’s almost painful. Her breathing is shallow and rapid, as if she ran fifty miles in less than an hour. This is a sign that I have to be decisive as I take the lead. Any misstep can be dangerous.

“Let’s turn left,” I instruct, trying to hide the slight tremor in my voice with an assertive, confident tone. I guide Brianna through every curve, every lane, clumsily avoiding traps that have been set up to make the game more gruesome.

The ground turns uneven halfway through the path; although I’m the one who’s blindfolded, I let my other senses transport me towards the exit. I can hear Brianna’s footsteps, which grow more hesitant and uncertain by the minute.

“Silla,” she whispers to a point that her voice is barely audible. “Something’s wrong. I know it. You may not see it, but, trust me, there is.”

“What is it, Bri?”

“The way they watch us… the letters… the whole thing. It's not a game.”

“Why so? I know you’re scared, and I myself also have my own share of suspicion. But let’s focus on getting out of this maze. At least the prize is worth the challenge, isn’t it?” At this point, I don’t know what I can to raise Brianna’s spirit up. Fear radiates off her like a shockwave.

At first, I’d just label it as paranoia; however, it’s something way deeper, a primal instinct warning us of danger. A danger too big to be brushed off.