I was still reeling from the dream.
Still trying to slow my pulse, still gripping the edge of the sink when I heard it.
Click.
The door.
My door.
I froze.
The air tensed.
I turned toward the bathroom door—but before I could reach it, a hand grabbed me from the front. Another clamped over my mouth.
I thrashed, panic flaring—but a whisper hissed in my ear.
"Shut up. Don't speak a word. Don't ask questions. Just do what I tell you."
It was the Penance.
My heart dropped into my stomach.
Before I could protest, he added in a low, flat voice:
"Someone is coming. They're going to try to kill you. Hide. Now. I'll take your place in bed. When they walk in, it won't be you they're killing."
And then he let go.
He didn't wait for my reaction. He just moved—ripping off his coat, grabbing one of my hoodies, pulling the covers over himself.
I didn't ask anything.
Didn't say a word.
I just hid.
There was only one real hiding spot in the room: the narrow crawl space under my bed frame. I slid under, pressing my chest against the cold ceramic floorboards, barely able to breathe.
And then we waited.
Tick.
Tock.
The hands of the clock glowed faintly on the desk.
2:29 AM.
2:30.
The door creaked open.
A shadow moved in.
Immediately I felt it—the bloodlust. Thick. Viscous. It clung to the walls like smoke.
Whoever it was, they weren't here to hesitate. They came to end a life.
A figure crept across the room. I saw the flash of steel in their hand—a knife. Long. Clean. Deadly.
They moved to the bed slowly, deliberately, thinking they were catching me asleep.
But then—
SNAP.
The Penance moved.
Fast.
He grabbed the killer's wrist mid-swing. The two wrestled for control, the blade glinting as it slashed through the air.
The knife clattered to the floor, skidding just inches from my face under the bed.
I watched in stunned silence as Penance twisted the killer's arm, slamming him down onto the floorboards with enough force to rattle the frame I was under.
But the killer wasn't done.
With a smooth motion, he twisted his body, slipping free from Penance's grip. He rolled, reached into his coat—
A gun.
The silver shimmer caught my eye just as he aimed at point-blank range.
"Die."
But Penance struck upward—his hand slamming into the gun, forcing the barrel skyward just as the trigger pulled—
BANG!
The shot went off.
My ears rang.
Glass shattered somewhere. The bullet punched into the ceiling.
The silence after was deafening.
People would've heard that. The whole building must've.
The killer cursed, swinging the butt of the gun downward—
But Penance dodged, grabbed his arm and headbutted him.
The crack of bone-on-bone echoed.
Still, the killer grinned—blood trickling from his nose—and reached again for the gun.
They clashed again, like animals.
Punches. Grapples. Scraping against the wall. Breathing harsh, fast, and violent.
Neither was pulling back. Neither cared if they lived.
Because both of them—Penance and the killer—were prepared to die.
That was their language. That was the battlefield.
Death vs Death.
And I—
I was under the bed, watching every second, frozen, heart racing so loud I thought I'd give myself away.
Then—
Thump.
A final blow.
The gun slid across the floor, stopping at the edge of the bed.
I reached for it instinctively—only to pull my hand back.
Because the killer was unconscious. Bleeding.
And Penance was standing over him, breathing hard, but smiling.
He looked toward me.
His lip was bleeding. His knuckles bruised. But his voice?
Steady.
"Come out. It's done."
I crawled out slowly, my legs numb.
"Why—" I started, but he shook his head.
"Later. Someone will be here soon. We need to disappear before they ask questions. Let them think… whatever they want."
I looked down at the gun on the floor.
Blood was pooling under the killer's head.
It had just begun.
Stared at the bloodied man on the floor.
His breathing was faint but steady. He was unconscious, maybe even concussed. But alive.
The Penance bent down and peeled back the hood covering the attacker's face. Blood trailed down from a split above his brow.
A dude. Young. Maybe mid-20s. I didn't recognize him, but that wasn't surprising. Half the people in this place kept to themselves.
I stepped closer, carefully, still trembling from the intensity of what just happened.
"You—" my voice cracked. I tried again. "You weren't supposed to be able to do that. Isn't this... against the rules?"
The Penance didn't even look at me. He was already stripping off the hoodie he wore to impersonate me.
"The rules didn't say I couldn't. They just said, 'You are not allowed to go out at night.'"
"But they never said you'd be punished."
He looked at me now, his eyes calm but gleaming with something else.
"They wrote it that way to make people paranoid. Control them through fear. That's the real trick."
He knelt beside the downed attacker and began patting his pockets. I knelt beside him, ignoring the blood smears as I helped search.
Eventually, I found the card, tucked tightly under his jacket.
I pulled it out.
I didn't even have to flip it.
Civilian.
My heart dropped.
Penance blinked, then looked at me. We were both frozen for a second.
"What the hell…?" I breathed.
He wasn't mafia.
Just… a civilian.
A normal card.
How could a civilian attempt a night kill?
Unless—
"What if it's… a role skill?" I said, voice low. "Something hidden. A secret mechanic we don't know about?"
Penance didn't answer.
I looked at the card again. Plain text. White border. No mark on the edges like the special roles had.
I shook my head.
"No… That can't be it. Maybe the card was switched. Maybe the real killer gave this guy a civilian card to throw us off."
That made sense.
It felt like something I'd do.
Penance exhaled slowly. "There are only two ways that card ends up in his hand: either he had a hidden ability…"
"Or someone else gave it to him."
I looked down at the man again.
His breathing was weaker now. Blood loss maybe.
And that's when something inside me clicked. Something cold. Something sharp.
"Or," I whispered, "He didn't come to kill me. He came to kill you."
Penance looked at me.
And he didn't deny it.
That's when the real silence settled between us.
Not fear. Not panic.
Doubt.
I whispered, "So if civilians can kill… or if cards can be switched…"
"How do we even know what we are?"
Penance smirked faintly. "Now you're asking the right question."
Outside, footsteps echoed.
Voices.
People were coming to investigate the gunshot.
And I suddenly felt like every card in this twisted game just flipped face-down.
And no one knew the rules anymore.
"We should hide now," I whispered. My chest ached from holding my breath for so long. "Before the blame falls on us both."
Penance gave a firm nod, and we both turned, scanning the room quickly.
Everything in the room had a purpose: the marble fireplace, the king-sized bed with sheets soft as air, the oak-paneled walls, and plush gray carpet muffling every footstep. A massive bookshelf covered one wall, beside a sleek liquor cabinet, and a chandelier hung above, glittering in the storm light from the rain-spattered balcony doors.
We moved fast.
Penance went for the walk-in closet, but I shook my head. Too obvious. First place anyone would check. The bed was too open. Under it was too shallow.
Then I saw it—a sunken reading nook beside the bookshelf, half-hidden by thick curtains and layered with pillows. A place meant for comfort and silence. It was perfect.
"There," I pointed.
Penance gave me a glance, then darted over. We crouched behind the velvet curtains, wedging ourselves between the wall and the bookshelves. I pulled them closed behind us, just enough to leave a slit to peek through.
The room fell silent.
Then—
The door creaked open.
Footsteps padded into the room—three sets, each moving differently across the thick carpet.
I held my breath, curled in the dark with Penance behind the velvet curtain of the sunken reading nook. I counted the boots. Just as expected: the Soldier, and two other men.
"...What the hell?" one of them whispered. "Is he dead?"
There was silence, save for the storm tapping on the balcony doors like ghost fingers.
I peeked out through the slit in the curtain.
The Soldier was crouching near the body on the floor—the killer. His hands moved with trained precision, checking the pulse, the throat, the limbs.
"No stab wounds," he muttered. "But something happened. There's a bruise on his head and neck… maybe a struggle? And a knife beside him… probably a killer?"
"There's no blood," said one of the men behind him. "Did he just drop dead?"
The other stepped forward, glancing around the room. He looked suspicious.
"Something feels off."
"Yeah," the Soldier replied. "But no one's in here."
"You sure?"
"Door was locked. Windows closed. And unless someone can teleport, he died alone."
My chest wouldn't stop pounding.
Then, one of the men bent down and noticed something peeking from under the dead man's jacket. A thin card.
"Wait. He had a role card."
"Well?" the Soldier asked.
The man flipped it over, and his brow furrowed.
"...Civilian."
"Bullshit," the second man muttered. "Civilians can't kill. That's not how this works."
"Unless—"
"Unless what?"
A long pause.
The Soldier said quietly. "Unless someone switched his card after death. Could be a cover-up."
That made my blood run cold.
Because he was right—just not for the reason he thought.
"We need to bring this up at the next meeting," the Soldier continued. "Civilians aren't supposed to die like this. And they sure as hell aren't supposed to kill."
The man holding the card nodded. "What if it's a special role? Like a sleeper or a hidden ability?"
"Maybe," said the Soldier. "But that means we've got more unknowns than we thought."
He stood up and scanned the room one last time.
"We'll take the body. And don't say a word about this yet. If people find out Civilians can kill now… we'll have panic."
The other two nodded.
They lifted the body, dragging it out the door. The moment it shut, I finally exhaled.
Penance leaned close, voice low.
"They didn't see us."
"But they saw the card," I whispered back.
"Which makes this worse."
"You think someone switched it?"
Penance looked at me.
"Or that card was never real to begin with."