Page 126 of Tricked By Jack
The crowd responds with a low, collective moan—part disappointment, part anticipation. Carolina waits for it to subside before continuing.
“When we created this place, we sought to build more than a spectacle. More than entertainment. We wanted to create a sanctuary in the truest sense—a place where darkness could be embraced rather than feared. Where grief and pain could be transmuted into something powerful.”
Her gaze sweeps the crowd, finding faces in the sea of masks and makeup. I watch from the wings, Jack a solid presence at my side, as she speaks of transformation, of survival, of turning trauma into strength. Her words resonate with something in me—I, too, have been transformed by darkness, have learned to wield it rather than fear it.
“The Sanctuary of Shadows was born from loss,” Carolina continues, her voice softening. “From the ashes of what was taken from us. My sister, Willow, never saw what we built here.” She pauses, emotion briefly tightening her features before she masters it. “But her spirit infuses every shadow, every flame. Willow’s Foundation rose from these grounds and has already begun to change lives, to create homes and safety for those who need it most.”
The crowd is utterly silent now, captivated by her raw sincerity. Even Jack seems transfixed, his breathing synchronized with mine as we listen.
“Tonight, as we close this chapter, I want you to remember that Halloween isn’t just a date on a calendar.” Carolina’s voice gains strength, conviction. “It’s a state of mind. A willingness to look into the darkness and see not just fear, but possibility. Not just endings, but transformations.”
The clock ticks closer to midnight. I feel it in my bones, in the electric anticipation that courses through the crowd.
“And transformation,” Carolina says, her gaze finding me in the shadows, “is what we celebrate tonight. Not an ending, but an evolution.” She extends her hand toward the wings. “As the clock strikes midnight, I invite Dr. Eve Mortis to join me in sharing what comes next.”
The crowd cheers at my name, recognizing it from the launch only one month ago. Jack squeezes my hand once before releasing me, letting me step into the light alone. The stage feels different beneath my feet now—not a trap but a platform, not a prison but a pulpit.
Carolina embraces me when I reach her, the gesture genuine despite its theatrical setting. “Thank you,” she whispers before pulling away, her smile private and warm before she turns back to the audience.
The first chime of midnight rings out, deep and resonant. I turn to Jack, still in the wings but visible now, and extend my hand to him so we can have this moment together. He shakes his head, smirking.
Carolina waits until all twelve chimes have sounded before speaking again. “The Sanctuary of Shadows closes tonight,” she announces, “but darkness doesn’t vanish with the dawn.”
I step forward, feeling oddly at home beneath the spotlight. “It merely changes form,” I continue, our voices weaving together as practiced. “Which is why we’re pleased to announce that the Sanctuary will rise again.”
“Not next October,” Carolina adds, “but this December.”
The crowd stirs, confusion rippling through them. This wasn’t the expected announcement—they were prepared for farewell, not continuation.
“The Sanctuary of Secrets is coming,” I explain, the words rolling off my tongue with delicious weight. “The first ever launch will be in another city. New grounds, new terrors—but the same soul.”
Carolina’s hand finds mine, our fingers interlocking as we face the audience together. “Tickets will be available next week, and you’d better hurry. Our Sanctuary of Secrets event will only be one week long.”
The announcement triggers a wave of excitement—people clutching at their medals, whispering to companions, already imagining what horrors await in December’s darkness.
Somewhere in the crowd, a chant begins, wordless atfirst, then coalescing into a rhythmic repetition of“One list. Two options. Have you been naughty or nice?”that swells until it seems to shake the very foundations of the island.
Behind us, fire erupts from hidden containers, columns of flame reaching toward the night sky in perfect synchronization with the chant. The heat washes over us, not burning but cleansing, marking the end of one era and the birth of another.
Feeling giddy, I turn to look for Jack, but I don’t see him. When my eyes land on Nicklas, he just shakes his head and smirks. I’m beginning to think smirking is one of their damn family traits.
“Have you seen—” A scream erupts from me as I’m suddenly pulled backward.
When I turn around, I look into twin circles of black glass, his mask inches from my face, his breath rasping through the filter in steady pulls. The world narrows to the hiss of the mask, the weight of his grip, and the silent claim in the way he holds me still.
“Mine,” he says. “Always.”
I curl my fingers into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, making my own claim in the press of my body against his. “Yours,” I agree. “But only if you can catch me.”
Around us, the crowd surges and celebrates, anticipating the horrors, and delights December will bring. But all I see is Jack sprinting after me.
As I run from him, all I feel is the promise of our future—dark and twisted and perfectly, beautifully ours. Whatever cities, whatever altars, whatever transformations await, we will face them together.
I don’t make it far. His hand clamps around my waist, dragging me back mid-stride, my cry swallowed by the hiss of his mask as my spine slams into his chest. I thrash once, twice, before his arm cinches tight and I know it’s useless.
“You can run,” he growls through the filter, breath hot at my ear, “but I’ll always catch you.”
Pinned in his grip, heart hammering, I can only gasp the truth back to him. “Always.”
