Austin steps out of the hidden room, his shoulders slumped, his face a mask of quiet defeat. The dim lighting in the central area only deepens the shadows under his eyes. His usual confident stride is gone, replaced by a shuffle that barely lifts his feet from the floor. The other teens notice immediately, their heads turning as he drifts by like a ghost.

"Austin?" Maddie's voice cuts through the silence, soft but urgent.

He doesn't respond, his eyes fixed on the hallway leading to his room. Maddie glances at Sam and Lynne, who are busy plating food-steaming spaghetti and meatballs, golden slices of garlic bread, and a bright, crisp salad. Lynne spares a fleeting glance toward Austin but doesn't pause in her task.

"Something's wrong with him," Maddie mutters, her dark eyes flitting between Henry and the girls. "Shouldn't we talk to him?"

Henry pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his brow furrowed. "Maybe during dinner," he says, his tone tentative. "If we're supposed to show we're united, that's the time to do it."

Sam's lips thin as she scoops sauce onto a plate. "Let's just eat. The nation loves a good show of unity, right?" Her words drip with sarcasm, but her movements are brisk, efficient.

Lynne exhales sharply. "Unity or not, I'm just trying to get through this."

The tension is palpable, the room crackling with unsaid words. Maddie's shoulders sag as she drops into a chair, her worry etched into every line of her face.

***

Dinner is a strained affair. The food is delicious-Lynne's cooking always is-but it sits heavy in their stomachs. No one speaks, the clinking of utensils against plates the only sound. Henry and Maddie exchange a few hopeful glances, as if willing someone to break the silence. The others avoid eye contact, their gazes fixed on their plates or the table.

Maddie can't take it anymore. She sets her fork down with a sharp clink. "This is ridiculous. We can't just sit here like... like statues."

"What do you want us to do?" Sam's voice is flat, her fork twirling spaghetti absently.

"Talk. Anything," Maddie presses. Her eyes flick to Austin, who stares blankly at his untouched plate. "We need to... figure this out. Together."

"Figure what out?" Lynne's tone is sharp and defensive. "How to pretend everything's fine for the cameras? How to keep Mother from... from breaking us?"

Maddie swallows hard. "How to stop letting her win."

The silence that follows is deafening. One by one, they finish their meals, clearing their plates with mechanical precision. The amount of unspoken words presses heavily on their shoulders.

Maddie can't let it go. As the others scatter, retreating to their respective corners of the house, she follows Austin to the couch. He sits heavily, slumping back with a sluggish, defeated air.

"Austin, talk to me." She says, sitting beside him. Her voice is gentle but firm, determined to reach him. "Please."

His eyes remain fixed on a distant point, his jaw tight. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Yes, there is." She insists. "You went into that room, and now you're... like this. What happened?"

He exhales harshly, his hand raking through his hair as his head lowers despondently. "I tried to call my dad. And you know what I got? A voicemail. 'Leave your name and number and I'll get back to you.' That's it. That's all I got."

Maddie's heart clenches. "Austin..."

"Do you know how humiliating that is?" His voice rises, shaking with barely restrained emotion. "In front of the whole nation, I tried to reach out to him. And he couldn't even bother to pick it up. I'm just... some voicemail entry to him. His own son!"

A tear slips down his cheek, and he swipes at it angrily. "I'm not gonna cry. I won't be weak."

"You're not crying because you're weak'," Maddie says softly. "You're crying because you care. That's not a bad thing."

He shakes his head. "You don't get it. My dad... he's all I've got. And he doesn't even see me."

"I do get it," Maddie counters, her voice thick with emotion. "My sister, Zoe, is all I've got. And she... she barely talks to me anymore. But that doesn't mean I'm giving up on her. And you shouldn't give up on your dad."

Austin's laugh is bitter, hollow. "It's been fifteen years, Maddie. If he hasn't cared by now..."

"Then he doesn't deserve you." She says fiercely. "But that doesn't mean you stop trying. It means you fight for yourself. For what you deserve."

He stares at her, something flickering in his eyes. But the moment passes, and he stands abruptly. "I need to... clear my head." He walks away, leaving Maddie alone on the couch, her hands resting on her thighs.

***

Night falls, and the lights dim automatically, casting the house in a soft, eerie glow. In her room, Sam lies on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep refuses to come. Her mind buzzes with the events of the day, the weight of her responsibilities, the cracks forming in their fragile unity.

And then she hears it.

Voices.

Low, insistent whispers that make her skin crawl. They're faint at first, but they grow louder, overlapping and echoing until they're impossible to ignore.

"Killer!"

"You killed Keith!"

"Don't kill us!"

The voices sound like the others-Austin, Henry, Maddie, and Lynne. Sam bolts upright, her heart pounding.

"Stop it!" She snaps into the darkness. But the whispers continue, relentless and accusing. She stumbles out of bed, hurriedly opening her door. The Central Room is empty, bathed in dim light. "Where are you?" she demands, her voice trembling with frustration and fear.

No one answers. The whispers persist, swirling around her, seeping into her mind. She presses her hands over her ears, but it does nothing to block them out.

"You're a killer, Sam."

"Keith deserved it."

"Admit it."

"Enough!" She screams, her voice echoing off the walls. She looks up at the camera lens above the screen, the empty red eye staring back at her. "Mother, stop this! Stop messing with me!"

There's no response. The red light remains dark. Sam's hands curl into fists at her sides. "Coward." She mutters, her voice shaking.

She retreats to her room, slamming the door shut behind her. Throwing herself onto the bed, she buries her face in the pillow and screams into it, muffling her frustration and anguish. But even then, the whispers don't stop. They grow louder, more insistent, filling her mind until sleep is an impossible dream.

The ghastly lies are just only beginning.