Two minutes remain. The fire has grown, filling our cramped enclosure with smoke. My mind fails me. What’s the last number? A flicker ignites the sheet’s edge. “Put it out!” Max yells. I drop the sheet and stomp out the flames, crushing them like cockroaches. Burnt edges linger. The words are still intact. “It must be eight,” he says at last. My shaky fingers enter the code. A beep. The door swings open. We did it! Relief washes over me, followed by a gripping terror. Another countdown timer rests on the wall. 3-2-1. A red laser locks onto our heads.