They didn't stop running until the clicking faded.

  Three floors up, two corridors over, through a service door that led to a stairwell that led to a rooftop food court that definitely shouldn't have existed. The mall's logic had given up entirely, but at least the cockroaches hadn't followed.

  Maggie bent over, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. Her heart was still pounding. Her hands were still shaking.

  Mark stood a few feet away, not even winded. Jean clung to his hand, Mr. Bear clutched tight against her chest with the other.

  "So," Mark said. "Cockroaches."

  Maggie didn't look up. "Don't."

  "I'm just saying. You handled the mannequins fine. Very impressive. Punching, kicking, the whole thing. And then a few bugs show up and suddenly you're a statue."

  "They weren't a few bugs. They were giant cockroaches."

  "Still bugs."

  "Giant. Cockroaches."

  "I seem to recall someone mocking me for not knowing how to handle a five-year-old." His tone was mild. "Something about being a 'natural.' Very paternal."

  Maggie straightened up, glaring at him. "That's different."

  "Is it?"

  "Children aren't disgusting nightmare creatures with antennae and—" She shuddered. "I don't want to talk about it."

  "Fair enough. I'd say we're even now."

  "We are not even."

  "We're a little even."

  Jean tugged on Maggie's sleeve. Maggie looked down.

  The girl was holding out Mr. Bear.

  "He helps when I'm scared," Jean said quietly. "You can hold him if you want."

  Something in Maggie's chest cracked. She crouched down to Jean's level.

  "That's really sweet, Jean. But Mr. Bear is yours. I'll be okay."

  "Are you sure?" Jean's brow furrowed with concern. "You looked really scared. More scared than me, even."

  "I—" Maggie paused. "Yeah. I was pretty scared."

  "It's okay to be scared." Jean said it with the absolute certainty of someone reciting something they'd been told many times. "Mama says everyone gets scared. Even grown-ups."

  "Your mama sounds smart."

  "She is." Jean considered for a moment, then reached out and took Maggie's hand. "There. Now you won't get lost either."

  Maggie looked at the small hand in hers. Then at Mark, who was watching with an expression that might have been amusement or might have been something else entirely.

  "Thanks, Jean," Maggie said.

  "You're welcome."

  Mark cleared his throat. "We should keep moving. Her parents are still somewhere in here."

  "Right." Maggie stood, still holding Jean's hand. The girl now walked between them—one hand in Mark's, one in Maggie's. "Any idea which way?"

  "Away from the clicking sounds, preferably."

  "Solid plan."

  · · ·

  They walked.

  The mall had stabilized somewhat—or maybe Jean had. With one hand in each of theirs and Mr. Bear tucked under her arm, she seemed calmer. The corridors still shifted, but less aggressively. The storefronts stayed mostly where they were supposed to be.

  Locke ranged ahead, nose to the ground, occasionally disappearing around corners before trotting back to report nothing of interest.

  "So," Maggie said, breaking the silence. "How long have you been scared of kids?"

  "I'm not scared of kids."

  "You froze when she grabbed your hand."

  "I was surprised."

  "You asked her for 'identifying features' and 'approximate time of separation.'"

  "Those are reasonable questions."

  "For a police report. Not for a crying five-year-old."

  Jean looked up at Mark. "What's a police report?"

  "It's a document adults use when something bad happens," Mark said. "Very boring. Lots of paperwork."

  "Oh." Jean seemed to accept this. "Papa does paperwork. He says it makes his eyes tired."

  "Your papa is a wise man."

  "He says that too."

  Maggie snorted.

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  They turned a corner. The corridor ahead was darker than the others—the lights flickering in that way that suggested the nightmare was less stable here. Shadows pooled in the storefronts.

  And somewhere in the distance, very faint: clicking.

  Maggie's grip on Jean's hand tightened involuntarily.

  "It's far away," Mark said. "We're fine."

  "I know."

  "You're cutting off circulation to her fingers."

  Maggie loosened her grip. "Sorry, Jean."

  "It's okay." Jean didn't seem bothered. "I hold Mama's hand tight too when I'm scared."

  They kept walking. The clicking stayed distant—present but not approaching. Background noise rather than immediate threat.

  Maggie tried to focus on other things. The storefronts. The way the floor tiles didn't quite line up. Locke's ears, perked and alert as he scouted ahead.

  "Why bugs?" Mark asked.

  "What?"

  "Everyone's afraid of something. Why bugs?"

  Maggie shrugged. "I don't know. They're disgusting. All those legs. The way they move." She shuddered. "Some fears don't need reasons."

  "Fair point."

  "What about you? What are you scared of?"

  Mark didn't answer immediately. They passed a bookstore with empty shelves. A music shop with instruments that played nothing.

  "Boredom," he said finally.

  Maggie looked at him. "Boredom."

  "The idea that nothing will ever change. That I'll be stuck in the same place, doing the same things, forever. Not very dramatic, I know."

  "No, I—" She thought about it. "I kind of get it."

  "Do you?"

  "Being trapped with no way out. Nothing new happening. Just... the same thing, endlessly." She glanced at him. "You've been here twenty years. That's a lot of same."

  "It is."

  They walked in silence for a moment.

  "At least you're not bored right now," Maggie offered.

  "Giant cockroaches chasing us through a nightmare mall." Mark's tone was dry. "Very exciting. Highly recommend."

  Jean tugged on both their hands. "I'm hungry."

  They both looked down at her.

  "You can't actually be hungry," Mark said. "This is a dream. Your body isn't here."

  "But I feel hungry."

  "That's psychosomatic. Your mind expects to feel hungry after exertion, so—"

  "Mark," Maggie interrupted. "She's five."

  "I'm aware."

  "Maybe just... make her a snack or something?"

  Mark looked at Jean, then sighed. He held out his free hand, and a small bag of cookies shimmered into existence.

  Jean's face lit up. "Cookies!"

  "Don't tell your parents."

  "I won't!" She grabbed the bag with her Mr. Bear hand, somehow managing to keep the stuffed animal tucked under her arm while extracting a cookie. "Thank you!"

  "You're a pushover," Maggie said.

  "I'm efficient. A hungry child is a distracted child. A distracted child weakens the nightmare."

  "Sure. That's why you did it."

  "It is."

  "Not because she looked at you with those big eyes."

  "Absolutely not."

  Jean offered a cookie to Maggie. "Want one?"

  "Thanks, sweetie." Maggie took it. "See, Mark? She shares. Unlike some people."

  "I literally created those cookies."

  "And then immediately gave them away. Very generous."

  "That's not—" He stopped. "I'm not going to win this argument, am I?"

  "Nope."

  Jean giggled. It was the first real laugh Maggie had heard from her since they'd met. The sound seemed to ripple through the nightmare—the lights flickering brighter for a moment, the shadows retreating slightly.

  "Keep doing that," Mark murmured.

  "Doing what?"

  "Making her laugh. It helps."

  Maggie looked at Jean, who was happily munching on her cookie, Mr. Bear still secure under her arm. Then at Mark, whose expression had softened just slightly around the edges.

  "You're not as bad at this as you think," she said.

  "At what?"

  "Kids. People. Whatever." She shrugged. "You created her a teddy bear. You made her cookies. You held her hand through the scary parts. That's not nothing."

  "I was being practical."

  "Sure."

  Mark didn't respond. But he didn't argue either.

  · · ·

  The clicking got louder.

  Not suddenly—gradually, like a tide coming in. One corridor it was barely audible. The next, it was unmistakable. The one after that, Maggie could feel it in her bones.

  "They're getting closer," she said.

  "I noticed."

  "What do we do?"

  "Keep moving. Find her parents. Get out."

  "And if they catch up?"

  Mark looked at her. "Then you fight them."

  "I can't—"

  "You can. You just don't want to." His tone wasn't unkind. "You fought mannequins without hesitating. These are the same. Just shaped differently."

  "They're not the same."

  "To your brain, yes. To everything else? Just another thing trying to hurt you. You've handled worse. You just have to remember that."

  Maggie wanted to argue. Wanted to explain that it wasn't about logic, that fear didn't care about reasonable comparisons, that knowing something was irrational didn't make it less real.

  But Jean was looking up at her with those big brown eyes, and the clicking was getting louder, and there wasn't time.

  "Fine," she said. "But if I freeze again—"

  "Locke will cover you. And I'll make sure Jean is safe." He met her eyes. "You're not alone in this."

  Something about the way he said it made her chest tight.

  "Okay," she said. "Okay."

  They kept walking. The clicking grew louder. Closer.

  Then Locke stopped.

  The husky stood rigid in the middle of the corridor, hackles raised, a low growl building in his chest. His eyes were fixed on something ahead—around the corner, out of sight.

  "Locke?" Maggie said.

  The clicking stopped.

  Silence. Heavy and wrong.

  Then a single cockroach rounded the corner.

  Small. Normal-sized. Antennae twitching as it scuttled across the floor.

  Maggie's stomach turned, but she held her ground. One bug. She could handle one bug.

  Another appeared. Then another. A dozen of them, flowing around the corner in a steady stream, spreading across the tile like an oil spill.

  Locke lunged.

  The husky tore through the first wave, paws crushing shells, teeth snapping. Maggie forced herself to move—stamping on the ones that got past him, trying not to think about the crunch under her boots.

  It was disgusting. It was horrible. Her skin crawled with every impact.

  But she didn't freeze.

  "Good," Mark said from behind her, Jean pressed against his side. "Keep going."

  More cockroaches poured around the corner. Bigger ones now—the size of rats, then cats, then dogs. Locke handled the largest, his jaws clamping down with vicious efficiency. Maggie kicked and stomped and punched, disgust and adrenaline mixing into something that almost felt like control.

  "Go, go, lady in yellow!" Jean's voice rang out from behind Mark. "You can do it!"

  Maggie couldn't help it. She laughed—a short, sharp sound that came out somewhere between hysteria and genuine amusement. A five-year-old was cheerleading her through a cockroach massacre.

  The flow slowed. Stopped.

  Maggie stood in the middle of the corridor, breathing hard, surrounded by the fading remnants of crushed shells. Her hands were shaking. Her stomach was threatening rebellion.

  But she'd done it.

  "See?" Mark said. "Not so bad."

  "I'm going to throw up."

  "Please don't. We just got the nightmare stabilized."

  Jean peeked out from behind Mark's leg. "You squished them all."

  "Yeah." Maggie wiped her hands on her dress, knowing it wouldn't help. "Yeah, I did."

  "That was really brave."

  Coming from a five-year-old who had been chased by monsters, the compliment hit harder than it should have.

  "Thanks, Jean."

  They started walking again. The corridor ahead was quieter now—the nightmare receding, the shadows less oppressive. Maybe Jean was feeling safer. Maybe Maggie's small victory had helped.

  Then the clicking started again.

  Different this time. Slower. Heavier. Not the skittering rush of many legs, but the deliberate impact of something large.

  Click.

  Click.

  Click.

  Locke's growl dropped an octave.

  It came around the corner.

  Maggie's brain refused to process it at first. Too big. Too wrong. A cockroach, yes—the shell, the antennae, the legs—but stretched and twisted into something else. The front limbs had become scythe-like appendages, folded against its chest like a praying mantis. Its head swiveled toward them with an intelligence that regular insects didn't have, compound eyes gleaming. Mandibles clicking in that slow, deliberate rhythm.

  It was the size of a car.

  It looked at them. Studied them. Calculated.

  Then it took a step forward.

  "Oh fuck," Maggie said.

  Mark's hand settled on Jean's shoulder, guiding her back.

  "Good luck," he said.