Taking a deep breath, I slid the darts into my pocket, keeping the spork in my hand.

“Okay,” I muttered to myself. “Let’s do this.”

The Fun House had never been one of my favorite parts of the fair. I’d only gone in it once when I was about nine. Leigh-Anne had gone with me, holding my hand the whole time, pointing out how silly we looked in the distorted mirrors, giggling about how fake the lime-green skeleton dangling from a doorway was. Afterward, she’d told me I was obviously the bravest third-grader in the state of Alabama, and we’d gone to get another cotton candy as a reward.

I kept that memory in mind now as I slowly made my way through the deserted Fun House. It was eerily quiet, the only sound the creaking boards underneath my feet and my own breath sawing in my ears. What exactly was going to happen here? Were more brainwashed people going to jump me? Ugh, fighting off frat boys had been terrible, but fighting off carnies? Yeah, I definitely wanted to take a pass on that.

There were a few lights scattered here and there, but it was still dim enough that I had trouble making out the room I was in. Or was it rooms? I felt like I’d gone through a doorway, but I wasn’t sure.

I turned left, only to run into a wall, but when I turned back the way I’d come, there was a wall there, too. Disoriented, I turned again, passing through a door narrow enough to scrape my shoulders.

I was in a bigger room now, but it was even darker, and I wiped my free hand on the seat of my pants, wishing my heart weren’t thundering in my ears.

From the corner of my eye, I saw something move, and I whirled around, spork raised high, only to drop my arm immediately when I saw who was standing in front of me.

My parents were wearing the same clothes I’d seen them in earlier this evening, Dad in his sweatshirt and jeans, Mom already in her pajamas. They had their arms wrapped around each other, their eyes huge and faces almost gray.

“Harper!” my mom screamed, and I rushed forward, the spork falling from my suddenly numb fingers. Not my parents. The school had been bad enough, but if Alexander or the Ephors hurt my parents—

I reached out, but instead of grabbing my parents, my hands hit hard, cold glass. One of the mirrors. Confused, I stumbled back, only to watch Mom and Dad vanish, my own reflection staring back at me. I looked as gray and panicked as they had, my hair coming loose from its braid, my lips parted with the force of my breathing.