Lynne's breath catches in her throat as Mother announces her name. Her warm brown skin pales slightly, and her dark eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape that isn't there. The other teens look at her with a mix of sympathy and relief, none of them envying her position. Sam steps forward, her blonde ponytail swaying as she places a hand on Lynne's shoulder.

"You've got this," Sam says firmly, her blue eyes steady and encouraging. "Just focus. Don't let her break you."

Lynne nods, though her legs feel like they might give out beneath her. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady the storm of anxiety brewing in her chest. Mother's voice interrupts the moment, smooth and mocking.

"Let's play a dare, Lynne." Mother's voice gleefully heinous. "You like that."

"I guess." Lynne tries to stand still, but her nerves uncontrollably shaking.

"So since you like to dance, let's see if you can live up to your dreams."

A small panel slides open in the wall near the gathering zone, and a neatly folded ballet outfit and shoes emerge on a sleek silver tray. The soft pink fabric looks pristine, almost mocking in its perfection. Lynne hesitates, her fingers trembling as she picks up the outfit.

"Take your time to change," Mother says sweetly. "You'll need to be in proper attire for this performance."

Lynne doesn't respond. She retreats to her room, the door closing softly behind her. The others remain in the Central Room as they all head towards the couch, their expressions tense. Austin slumps back onto the couch, running a hand through his messy reddish-blonde hair. Maddie sits quietly, her small frame hunched over, her hands clasped tightly together. Henry adjusts his glasses nervously, glancing toward the camera lens that seems to follow their every move.

"This is messed up," Austin mutters. "We're supposed to just sit here and watch?"

"What else can we do?" Maddie whispers, her voice barely audible.

Sam crosses her arms, her gaze fixed on the closed door of Lynne's room. "We stay ready. Whatever happens, we're not letting Mother break us."

Lynne emerges a few minutes later, dressed in the ballet outfit. The soft fabric clings to her, and the satin shoes gleam under the artificial lights. Her sleek black hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and though she stands tall, there's a vulnerability in her eyes that makes Sam's chest tighten.

Mother's voice returns, dripping with condescension. "Lovely, Lynne. Truly. Now, let's get you in the mood."

The house fills with the sound of a man's voice, sharp and scathing. She freezes, her breath hitching as she recognizes the familiar timbre. It's her father, Mr. Quintell, his words laced with disdain.

"You call that dancing? Your form is atrocious! Start again, Lynne!. And this time, try not to embarrass yourself!"

Lynne's hands clench into fists at her sides. The critiques cut deep, reopening old wounds she'd tried to bury. She steps onto the gathering zone floor, her movements stiff with tension. Mother's voice chimes in.

"Remember, Lynne. Perfection is the goal. If you falter, you start over."

The others watch in helpless silence as Lynne begins a series of ballet moves. She forces her body through the motions, her limbs trembling with effort. The harsh critiques of her father echo around her, each word a dagger to her confidence.

"Your lines are sloppy! Again!"

"You'll never make it if you keep moving like that."

Sam's jaw tightens as she watches. "This is torture."

"What can we do?" Henry asks quietly. "If we intervene, we..."

"We lose our chance to contact our families," Austin finishes bitterly. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "But this? This is sick."

Henry looks to Sam, his expression pleading. "Her own family... it's her father's voice. How is this okay?"

"It's not," Sam says firmly. "But if we stop her, we'll all pay the price. Including Lynne."

They fall silent, forced to endure the sight of Lynne's struggle. She pushes herself through the moves, her body aching, her heart pounding with humiliation. Tears sting her eyes, but she blinks them away, refusing to let them fall.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Mother's voice returns. "Well done, Lynne. The nation is satisfied. You may stop now."

The critiques stop abruptly, and Lynne freezes in place, her chest heaving. She holds back a sob, her hands trembling as she wipes at her eyes. The others rush to her as Mother's voice continues.

"Congratulations, roommates! You've completed your first challenge. Take the rest of the day to recover. The next challenge will begin tomorrow."

The red light on the camera lens blinks off, leaving the room in a dreary stillness. Lynne crumples to the floor, her shoulders shaking as she finally lets herself cry. Austin moves first, kneeling beside her and placing a hand on her back.

"You did great!" He says softly. "Don't let her get to you."

Henry joins them, his voice gentle. "You're stronger than this. Don't let her win."

Sam watches from a distance, her expression hard but thoughtful. She steps into the kitchen, her movements purposeful as she begins pulling out ingredients. The clatter of pans draws the others' attention.

"What are you doing?" Austin asks.

"Breakfast," Sam says simply. She glances at Lynne. "We're going to try this shared breakfast, again."

Lynne looks up, her eyes red and swollen. "Why now?"

"Because the nation needs to see us as more than victims," Sam replies. "They need to see us together. Not broken."

Henry hesitates, then nods. "She's right."

Austin sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. Let's do it."

Slowly, they join Sam in the kitchen, working together to prepare a meal. Maddie lingers at the edge of the room, watching quietly before finally stepping forward to help. The tension remains, but for the first time, there's a sense of unity among them.

***

An hour later, they sit at the modern dining table near the wall. Plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon are spread before them. The air is still thick with mistrust, but the shared meal brings a fleeting sense of normalcy. Lynne manages to have a small smile as she takes a bite, the comfort of food helping to steady her nerves.

As the day stretches on, the teens retreat to their own spaces. Henry returns to the laptop, his fingers flying over the keys as he searches for answers. His heart skips a beat when he notices a new incoming email in the inbox from someone going by [email protected].

Curious, Henry clicks on the message. The text is simple but chilling:

Subject: A Friend

Anyone who is reading this, I want to be your friend. I want to let you know, the people, these creators who put you in this cage not a house, want to torture you, use you, and kill you. Trust me, and I will rescue you. Will you trust me? I do things to make sure things will go your way. My name is Elijah, I want to help.

Henry's hands hover over the keyboard as he rereads the message. His first instinct is to ignore it, dismissing it as a trap. But something about the tone feels genuine. If there's even a chance this Elijah is telling the truth, Henry knows he has to take it.

He types a reply, his fingers trembling.

Subject: RE: A Friend

My name is Henry. I do trust you.

With a deep breath, he clicks send, the message disappearing into the void. He leans back in the desk chair, his mind racing. If Elijah is real, he might be their only hope. But if it's another trick, they could be in even more danger than they realize.