Meera, wide-eyed but steady-handed, whispered, "My brother watched this show. He said the Queen of Clubs is about teamwork. But this feels like a trap."

The room shimmered. The door to the final floor opened. sat on a throne made of erased faces—smooth, white ovals. She was beautiful and hollow, her eyes two buttons sewn on.

Rohan nodded, cold sweat dripping. "This game isn't about logic. It's about whose pain you understand." A teenager in a messy bedroom, holding a acceptance letter from a university, then crumpling it because her parents can't afford it. The emotion? Loneliness.

"This is worse than dying," he hissed.

She offered them two visas: one to return to the games, one to "stay here" as a mannequin guard.

Meera looked at Rohan, horrified. "You were right. The owner felt fear. But the question was about the memory-owner, not the other person."