Hide and Seek: The Mad Girl Sees All novel Chapter 2

Chapter 2 How Did She Know?

Lyra didn’t look at the wall again. She turned and strolled deeper into Rose Manor, humming a tuneless little song.

Her fingers brushed the red roses along the path. She plucked one and tucked it behind her ear — easy, natural, like a girl wandering her own garden instead of a deadly Wraith zone.

The chat exploded all over again.

WhenWillTheyDie: [What is she even doing? Has she completely lost it?]

NeverAteVeggies: [Am I seeing this right? She’s picking flowers to accessorize herself?]

AnotherDayAlive: [Yeah, she’s full-on psychotic. I don’t think she even understands what this game is.]

GoDraconia: [Everyone, start prepping now. Pack up essentials. If she really gets caught, head straight for the evacuation points the moment the game ends and the invasion zone is announced. Remember: we only get fifteen minutes.]

momo: [Got it. Twenty-two evacuations in, we know the drill.]

LuckyKoi: [I’ve got a strong feeling she’s going to pass this game.]

Inside the command center, the main screen flickered. Lana’s eyes were locked on the feed.

“Ma’am, pulling the player’s records is harder than we thought.” The technician’s fingers flew across the keyboard, a thin sweat beading on his forehead. “Everything before age seven is blank. Her medical files after that were lost when the nuclear war damaged the databases.”

“What about the last month or so?” Lana asked.

“That part’s intact.” The tech pulled up a page, his tone turning odd. “Her doctors noted that Lyra liked to mutter to herself in the corner of her room, and would sometimes crouch in the courtyard talking to the grass. They classified it as textbook psychiatric symptoms.”

Lana’s brows drew tight. Her knuckles tapped against the desk in a steady rhythm.

“Did she ever try to escape?” Lana asked.

The tech blinked, then flipped through the file. “Three times. But she only ever made it as far as the front gate before the orderlies brought her back.”

“Why didn’t she keep going?” Lana asked.

The tech answered, “Because she just stopped at the gate. Sat on the curb watching the sunset until the orderlies came for her. Never put up a fight. No one knows why.”

Lana mulled it over for a beat, then waved at the assistant behind her. “Send a team to that psychiatric hospital right now. Seal every paper file and every byte of data they have. Interview the doctors. And if — I mean if — she lives through this round, bring her straight to the command center.”

An assistant replied, “Yes, ma’am.”

On the other side of the room, the think tank was already deep in argument.

“The data says she has zero survival skills. Her behavior says she lacks even basic caution.”

“Based on her profile, I don’t think she actually understands the game. I recommend opening the comm channel right now and briefing her before the Wraiths spawn.”

“Absolutely not. Briefing her now eats up her hiding window, and we only get one comm window per round. We have to save it for the critical moment.”

“And this isn’t critical? If she doesn’t even know she’s in danger — if she mistakes a Wraith for a regular person and walks up to say hello — will your warning come in time then?”

“Every past round shows that warning our player when the Wraiths are closing in, and telling them to move, gives the best survival odds.”

“This case is different!”

“Maybe we’ve all been underestimating her.” A white-haired elderly woman cut in. “She’s been locked in that psychiatric hospital for fifteen years. Rules, restraints, isolation, torture to most people. But to a patient like her, it may be the most familiar survival environment there is.”

“You’re saying she might find this place more comfortable than the real world?”

“Watch.”

On the monitor, Lyra had already wandered into a European-style villa. Across the split-screen feeds, the other contestants’ situations were on full display.

A contestant from a Southeast nation was crammed inside a kitchen cabinet, both hands clamped over his mouth, body shaking violently with terror.

A Western contestant was wedged under a sofa, eyes bloodshot, knuckles white around a steak knife. The slightest sound and he’d come out swinging.

Fear was the common thread.

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