"I never asked," I muttered, shifting my eyes toward him as he stood near the window, watching the rainfall drip down the glass like slow tears.
"Huh?" Desmond turned, one eyebrow raised.
"What's your name?"
He blinked at me in disbelief. "Are you serious?"
"Yes," I answered honestly.
A beat passed before he sighed, ruffling his hair. "Desmond. My name's Desmond."
He looked at me a moment longer, like he was trying to read something in my expression.
"It's weird you don't know it… but I'll trust you." His voice was low, almost uncertain.
He turned and walked to the door.
"No more questions," he added. "Lay low. Don't talk too much. And most importantly—don't trust a soul here."
And just like that, he was gone.
Morning sunlight broke through the high windows of the manor's grand lounge, but it didn't wash away the weight of the previous night. The heavy silence was thick with tension—no one spoke, all eyes on the front where the Soldier stood, back straight, posture tight like he'd been wound too long and might snap.
"We discovered something last night," he began. His voice rang clear over the murmuring crowd. "You all heard the gunshot. I went to check it out."
My heart pounded. I stole a glance at Desmond—gone. Not here. Smart.
The Soldier didn't mention the two men who had followed him that night. I narrowed my eyes.
Why not?
And then it hit me.
If he didn't mention them, they're valuable. He's protecting them. Which means… they have roles. Important ones.
"When I arrived," the Soldier continued, "I found a body. The victim had a role card. Civilian."
Gasps.
"But—" he raised his hand to silence the room, "—that doesn't make sense. A Civilian isn't capable of killing."
The room went still.
"So what does that mean?" someone whispered near me.
"It means," the Soldier said slowly, "there are a few possibilities. Either the Civilian attempted murder and failed… or someone killed him in self-defense. Or—" his voice darkened, "—this is a setup. A card switch. A cover-up. Maybe the Mafia doesn't want us to know who their real agents are."
A ripple of murmurs spread.
Someone shouted, "Wait, so Civilians can kill now?"
"No." His voice was sharp. "That's not how this works. But something is off. Either someone's manipulating cards… or roles aren't as fixed as we think."
I felt a chill crawl up my spine. My thoughts flicked back to my own card. The one that felt... off. The text, the edges, and the message I received. "That's a fake card, isn't it?"
I looked around.
Panic hadn't set in yet—but paranoia had begun.
The Soldier continued.
"I'll be keeping the body secured for further investigation. Until then—everyone is to stay cautious. Assume nothing. Trust no one. That's all."
He turned and left.
And voting came.
Some people's voices were louder this day.
Many were pointing fingers at one another—desperation thick in the air, like it could choke. And as voting concluded:
Iris Denholm — 3 votes
Vern Kael — 3 votes
Reyna Solace — 3 votes
Rin Aclaire — 3 vote
Unvoted — 18
Votes are tied…
A silence hovered.
Then it cracked wide open.
"I told you she was lying—Reyna's too quiet now!"
"Quiet? She's terrified! You want to execute her for that?"
"We should be voting based on behavior—what even is this system?! It's rigged!"
"It's not rigged—it's fear. You're all just scared."
"Of course I'm scared! Someone died last night!"
Their voices became unstable, louder, clashing like blades. Panic spiraled—people weren't talking to each other anymore. They were just shouting, hoping their voice would drown out the next.
And I stood still.
Watching. Processing.
Twenty people didn't vote including me.
This wasn't just paranoia anymore.
This was just pure chaos.
"This isn't even a game anymore," someone muttered behind me. "It's just... a random killing game."
But I knew better.
It wasn't random.
It never was.
It was well executed to our aligned desire.
And then ever since the start of this day, people became loud. No more brain, just mouths moving—blatant blaming, throwing accusations like it was a sport. One after the other, no evidence, no reason. Just pure chaos.
"I KNEW IT! I KNEW YOU WERE ACTING OFF!" Leira Vaughn snapped, pointing a finger at Silas Dray. "That twitch in your jaw yesterday? You're hiding something."
Silas scoffed, stepping forward, his voice rising over the noise. "Oh please, Leira, you've been paranoid since night one. Everyone breathes wrong, and you scream Mafia. Maybe you're the one hiding behind accusations!"
Mila Ronen rolled her eyes, arms crossed. "Silas, shut up. You've been silent for days, and suddenly you care? What changed? Got scared your name would come up?"
Ashen Crow leaned on the table, dead-eyed. "It's always the loud ones. Mila, you're barking now because you want someone to look away from your mess. Who was it you tried to vote off two days ago, huh? Your own partner?"
Reyna Solace slammed her hand against the table. "Enough! All of you are acting like children. We lost three people in two days and none of you have brought us closer to anything but a screaming match!"
Iris Denholm glared. "Reyna, don't act like you're the only sane one here. You got the most votes today. Why's that? Maybe because everyone's finally seeing you for what you are."
"Oh, you mean like how you keep slipping through each vote without a scratch?" Naomi Syre snapped. "You're too quiet, Iris. Every single meeting. You fade into the background, then reappear like a ghost when it's convenient."
Leira's voice rose again. "EVERYONE! We're being manipulated! Someone's watching us rip each other apart and laughing!"
"And what do you suggest, Leira?" Ashen said coldly. "A group hug? Maybe light some candles and chant for the truth?"
More shouting. Everyone started talking over each other now:
"I'm telling you it's Silas!"
"No, it's Mila—she's faking everything!"
"What if Ashen is the real manipulator?"
"Reyna's trying to look like a leader—classic cover!"
"We're voting blind! BLIND!"
"I can't take this anymore!"
"Shut up! All of you just SHUT UP!"
Panic. Accusations turned into screams. Eyes narrowed. Some stood up. Others backed away.
It was a warzone.
And the night hadn't even begun.
I didn't say a word. I sat at the edge of the room, watching the madness unfold like an unhinged stage play. Everyone had lost it. There was no logic, no deduction. Just fear. Pure, festering fear.
Mila Ronen slammed her chair back. "You think this is funny, Ashen? You wanna act like the cool-headed observer while we're dying off one by one?"
Ashen didn't flinch. "Funny? No. Tragic? Maybe. Entertaining? Absolutely."
"You're sick," Naomi spat. "You sit there and smirk while people get murdered. What, are you hoping to be the last one standing?"
"Better than being the first one buried," he said flatly.
Reyna stepped between them. "This isn't helping. We're going in circles!"
"Oh, now you want peace?" Iris barked. "You've been fanning the flames since day one. Always the mediator, always the voice of reason. Maybe that's your role. You keep us distracted while your little friends pick us off."
Reyna's eyes widened. "I have no 'little friends'!"
"Everyone does," Leira hissed. "You just haven't slipped yet."
Silas looked around, voice raw from shouting. "No one's thinking anymore! We're just looking for someone to burn! I swear, I'm not—"
"Don't swear," Mila snapped. "You've got blood in your eyes. You didn't even react when the civilian was found dead. Why?"
Silas shouted, "Because I was in shock, Mila! Not all of us cry on command!"
"You sure as hell weren't shocked last night when you walked past the corridor without blinking at the body," Naomi added, glaring at him.
I watched their faces twist and tremble, one by one. Twitching hands, clenched jaws, twitching eyes. I couldn't trust any of them—but worse… they couldn't even trust themselves.
Reyna pointed at Iris again. "You got three votes today, Iris. Why do you think that is?"
Iris replied coldly, "Because people like you manipulate the weak-minded."
"Weak-minded?" Leira snapped. "I've survived two deaths in my room, I'm not weak!"
"Then maybe you're lucky," Ashen said. "Or maybe you're useful to someone."
Naomi's voice cut through again. "What if this whole thing is designed to turn us against each other? What if the real enemy isn't any of us, but something watching us?"
"Paranoia," Silas muttered. "That's what they want. And we're delivering."
Mila turned toward me for a moment. "You! You've been quiet. Too quiet. What do you think?"
All eyes turned.
I blinked.
I just stared back. Calm. Cold. Silent.
Because I had already learned one thing.
Words only paint targets
I left the area just walking mindlessly and thought...It's weird I haven't talked to Selene and Kara ever since, especially Kara. Ever since the day I know her identity.
I walked.
No direction. No plan. No thoughts that made sense.
Just… noise. My head was drowning in it.
The arguing behind me had dissolved into muffled shouts as the door closed.
I just kept walking, my legs guiding me through the long marble halls, dimly lit with the blue hue of artificial moonlight humming from the skylights above. I passed one corridor. Then another. My feet stopped near the open lounge area, and I collapsed onto one of the cushioned seats near the bar counter.
My elbows rested on the polished obsidian wood. My fingers curled into fists. The silence around me was deafening.
That's when I saw them.
Calla Myrrin and Elias Thorn—the Lovers.
She wore a silk lavender blouse with a soft white skirt, her long black hair curled in loose waves falling over her shoulder. He stood behind her, fingers gently brushing the back of her hand while she ordered two glasses of white wine.
I hadn't seen them in a while.
It was strange, really. In the middle of all this chaos, they looked untouched.
"Two, please," Calla said to the bartender softly. "Dry. But not bitter."
The bartender—a silent automated server with no face—nodded, gliding away.
Elias chuckled under his breath. "Like you."
Calla smirked. "Oh, I'm much more, bitter than that."
Their voices were soft, fond. Unbothered.
Untouched by the mess outside.
I stared at them for a second too long, and they noticed.
"Hey," Elias greeted gently. "You look like you could use one of these too."
I didn't smile. I didn't know how to.
Instead, I asked, "Why are the both of you so calm? Why do you seem so... relaxed? There's blood outside. People pointing fingers. Everyone's turning on each other. And you're here—drinking wine like you're on a vacation."
Calla looked at Elias, then back at me.
There was no mockery in her face. No insult.
Just… something soft. Something that felt like the opposite of this place.
And then she answered.
"Because when you've already walked through hell," she said, "this kind of madness feels like just another room with a locked door."
Elias leaned forward, resting his forearms on the bar. "We've had our share of locked doors. Some of them… we weren't sure we'd ever open again."
I stayed quiet. Listening.
They weren't saying it for drama. Or for pity.
They were remembering.
Calla exhaled. "We met in a city that doesn't exist on maps anymore."
"Bombing?" I asked.
"No," Elias said. "Just... erased. Forgotten. I was a journalist. She was an interpreter. We were stationed near the same district during a media assignment. A civil war broke out just two days after I arrived."
She smiled faintly. "He kept trying to flirt during every debriefing."
"It worked," he said proudly.
Calla laughed softly, resting her cheek on her palm. "Eventually."
They looked at each other like no one else was there.
Elias continued, voice lower now. "One night the alarms went off. An airstrike. I lost my team. I thought she was gone too. I spent the next week searching every ruin, calling in every favor, begging strangers for help. She had been hiding in a collapsed basement with a broken leg, keeping three orphan kids alive with stolen military rations."
Calla's voice softened. "He found me. Carried me through the mud with gunshots still echoing behind us."
"She cursed at me the whole way," Elias added with a grin.
"Because you almost dropped me," Calla said with a raised brow.
"But I didn't."
"No," she admitted. "You didn't."
Silence settled again. The glasses of wine arrived. They didn't drink yet.
Calla looked at me. Her eyes were distant, but calm.
"We've already known what it means to almost lose each other. To be ready to say goodbye. Every day after that… has been a gift we didn't expect to have. So when people yell, when people panic, when the world shakes…"
She looked at Elias again, voice tender.
"…I remember the sound of his heartbeat while we hid behind broken stone walls. I remember his voice telling me I'd be okay even when we both knew he was lying. And that's why we're calm."
Elias said, "Because love doesn't die in chaos. It either breaks… or becomes the only thing left worth holding."
They touched glasses. The sound of crystal meeting crystal was soft. Clean.
A strange sound in a place like this.
Something untainted.
I didn't say anything.
Because I didn't need to.
Because maybe…
For the first time in days…
I remembered what peace sounded like.