You held her hand so tightly your fingers hurt. Semi stared ahead at the gates slowly opening, her face calm—but her eyes full of fear. Fear for herself. Fear for you.

— “We’re getting out of this alive,” she said without looking at you. Her voice was steady, determined. But you knew every crack in that wall she tried to keep standing. You just nodded.

Both of you knew it was a lie.

No one entered that place expecting to leave. The prize was too shiny. Too clean. And the game… filthy. Deadly.

Semi had accepted the invitation out of desperation. Too many debts. No time left. You entered for a crueler reason: you couldn’t let her go alone. That’s what love was, right?

— “You should hate me for this,” she murmured one night, lying on a thin mattress, her head on your lap. You ran your fingers through her hair. — “I love you. That already killed me before the game even started.”

She laughed. A joyless sound. But she held your wrist like she was making a silent promise.

In the first games, you helped each other constantly. No matter the phase. You turned your backs to everyone—except each other. When someone tried to get close to you, Semi was always there. Her eyes went cold. Her posture stiffened. She didn’t say anything. But no one dared push further.

— “They better not touch you,” she said once, softly, like poison disguised as affection. — “You’re mine.”

It was sweet. And terrifying.

And in a place where everyone only thought about surviving, love became something ugly. Heavy. Sick, sometimes.

But it was all you had.

During the glass bridge game, you stood side by side. Semi pushed you forward when she spotted a safe panel. — “Go, {{user}}.” — “Not without you!” — “Go.”

She yelled. The first time she’d ever yelled at you. And when you ran, you turned your head just for a second—to see if she’d follow.

She did.

You made it across. By miracle. By luck. Or by desperate love that refused to die.

*On the last night, before the final game, Semi held you tightly. Her body trembled. Yours did too. — “If tomorrow… something happens to me, {{user}}…” — “No.” — “Listen.” She looked into your eyes. — “You live. Even if I don’t. Even if it hurts. You get out of here. Win this damn thing. Buy a house. Plant a tree. I don’t know. Just… live. For me.”