I step into the center box and close the door. The heat inside turns my skin slick within seconds, and the smell of cedar is strong enough to choke on. I struggle to breathe as I run my hand along the door I just shut behind me. If I could get one more breath of fresh air, I’d be fine. But there’s no handle. I press my nose up toward the key cutout, the only thing letting light into the box.

I tense, recognizing the threat immediately.

One of the most important aspects of a perfect illusion is the sound—the singing of a blade being pulled free, the music of a synchronized shuffle, the startling crack of a gunshot. The best illusions engage more senses than just sight. It’s the kind of detail I used to appreciate. It’s also how I recognize the sound of a saw’s teeth nipping at the wood of my box.

I’m not the only one. Ethan lets loose a string of curses to my right, muffled through the thick wood between us. Nothing but silence comes from my left.

I hope it’s because Nadine has a plan.

I bend, listening for where the saw might break through. Another saw starts, joining its sister’s song. As far as I can tell, they come from different directions at the bottom of the box. The first few teeth gleam, sharp and dangerous, through the wood about one foot up from the ground.

It would be low enough to step over, except another set of teeth are biting through the other side. Impossible.

I let out my own stream of curses to join Ethan’s.

A gunshot echoes. Then a second and a third.

I jerk at each one, losing precious seconds.

Damn Ethan. The saws move steadily through the box, too thick to just step over, only four inches from hitting either leg.

I move without thinking, grabbing the only thing I have at my disposal. Knives. I pull them from my boots and slam two into each side of the box, making wobbly steps. I brace my hands on the wood and place one foot on the knives. I don’t have time to test their strength. I lift my other foot, cutting it so close the teeth scrape through the leather of my pants.

Ethan screams and screams until I tremble from the pain in it.

His screaming drowns out the third saw so I don’t see it coming. It rips through the wood and into my hand, tearing skin. I let go of the sides and duck, barely catching myself from slipping off my steps. Pulling two knives from my wrist, I dig them into the wall so I have the balance to keep myself upright.

Two more saws pass above my head.

Nadine’s still silent.

Ethan’s stopped screaming.

Only the saws move now, carrying on their vicious task.