The atmosphere had changed.
Everyone was quieter now, more careful, like stepping on glass. Conversations were hushed, glances sharper, and silence heavier. Tension wrapped itself around the building like vines—cold, choking, inevitable. Yet one person seemed immune to it all.
The reporter.
She darted from group to group, notebook in hand, her words rapid and relentless. People shrugged her off or ignored her entirely, but she didn't care. Her energy didn't die, didn't even flicker.
By the time she reached me, I had already watched her pace through almost everyone else.
She beamed, extending a hand. "Selene Varric! Officially and unofficially, the sharpest mind in this place. I figured I should get the best last, so—hope you're not shy around a mic."
She didn't wait for permission.
"Name? Okay, we'll skip that—you're the quiet one, aren't you? You think a lot, don't you? What's your theory so far? Do you think the voting system can be exploited? Are you suspicious of anyone? The soldier? Me? Yourself?"
She leaned in, eyes locked onto mine.
"Do you sleep well? Do you dream? Did you see anything last night? Do you think the killer is alone or working with someone? Did the scream bother you? Do you think it was real? What's your role?"
I blinked. The words blurred together like smoke.
She smirked at my hesitation. "Don't worry, I'm just gathering impressions. Sometimes people crack when they're under pressure. Thought I'd test the theory." Her expression sharpened. "Don't worry, I can keep a secret. If it's worth keeping."
Before I could reply, a familiar voice broke through the air.
"Kindly return to your rooms and enjoy your rest."
The mechanical chime of the announcer followed, chilling in its calmness.
As I made my way to my room, something caught my eye in the corner of the hallway.
Two figures.
The new guy—tall, lean, movements too smooth to be normal. Damien Cord, they said his name was. He was talking to the hostess. I couldn't hear what they were saying. I didn't want to intrude, but something in me twisted. Gut instinct. Something about that exchange wasn't ordinary.
That man was… out of place.
As I turned the corner, I couldn't shake the image of his eyes. Sharp. Measured. Like someone playing a game no one else even knew existed.
POV Shift
The door clicked open.
Damien had done this dozens of times before. Quick fingers, silent steps. One slip of a lock, a creak in the doorframe—into the darkened dorm. Quiet. Just like he liked it.
He was already halfway to the desk when he realized this wasn't the dorm he meant to enter.
And that's when he felt it.
The air.
Cold.
Still.
"You're a little too confident," a voice spoke behind him.
Damien froze.
Slowly, he turned.
A man stood there. He wasn't holding a weapon. He didn't need to. His presence was enough.
Slicked-back hair, unbothered expression. He sat casually on the edge of his bed, like he'd been waiting. Like this was all just a scheduled meeting.
"Ah," the man said. "A thief, aren't you?"
Damien's fingers tensed.
The man smiled.
"Relax. I'm not going to kill you. I'm your ally."
He pulled something from beneath his coat. A card. Black ink, sharp lettering, edges still pristine.
"You found me, didn't you? I'm one of your allies." His tone was casual, almost bored. "And not just anyone. The head of the serpent."
He flicked the card toward Damien.
"You can only steal once per night, if I'm not mistaken," the man continued. "And depending on the card you take… you can change what you are, can't you?"
Damien didn't respond. But his silence was enough.
The man's eyes gleamed.
"You're useful," he said. "A good little shadow. I have a task for you kill the reporter next and get her occupation and you'll have one of the best ability in this game information."
He stood.
And without another word, the man walked past Damien and sat near the balcony while looking up in the beautiful starry night.
The thief stood there, heart pounding.
How did he know?
What else did he know?
POV Shift: The Thief – Damien Cord
The man—the killer, the one in control—smiled with a casual cruelty. His voice was smooth, clear.
"The knife is near the table. If you want something flashy, there's also a gun. Just pick. But if you're thinking of doing anything else with it… like, say, killing me?"
His eyes narrowed, lips curled into a thin smirk.
"You better watch out."
The words didn't need emphasis. They sank deep into Damien's chest like invisible needles. The air around the killer was suffocating—silent, but screaming with warning.
Damien's fingers twitched. He glanced toward the knife—simple, steel, sharp. The gun gleamed beside it, far more intimidating. His mind swirled with noise, but a single thought drowned it out.
Survive.
In a panic, he grabbed the knife, breath ragged. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. He didn't want to know what would happen if he hesitated again. Or worse—disobeyed.
His steps were ghost-like as he slipped through the dark hall, navigating toward Selene Varric's dorm. The reporter. The annoying girl with too many questions. She'd been getting close. Too close. Maybe that was the reason. Maybe not.
He opened the door quietly.
She was there.
Sleeping, peaceful. Too peaceful. It made everything worse.
He didn't stop. The knife descended—once, twice, then more. Blood spilled across her sheets. Her breathing hitched. Her eyes fluttered—then closed again.
And Damien ran.
He didn't look back.
POV Shift: The Doctor - Kara Fens
She was already inside.
The moment the voting ended, Kara Fens didn't return to her room like the others. She followed her gut—an instinct sharpened by years in hospitals.
And tonight, her instinct told her to stay hidden in one of the dorms. Just in case.
She chose randomly.
Selene's.
The girl had been talkative, sharp. Unpredictable.
Kara had slipped into the closet quietly, card clutched to her chest. Her role was simple, but powerful.
Doctor
You may heal one civilian per night if present in their dorm.
The sound of footsteps approaching startled her—but she didn't move. When the door creaked open, she held her breath. From the darkness, she watched the shadow enter.
She didn't see his face.
Only the blade.
The stabbing started. A soft gasp. Blood. She could barely keep herself from moving too early.
She waited until the figure fled.
The door closed. Footsteps faded. Silence reclaimed the room.
Kara moved.
She slipped out from the narrow space between the closet and the wall, her heart pounding beneath her ribs. Blood soaked the bed. The girl's chest rose in small, uneven breaths.
Selene was alive—but barely.
Kara dropped her leather bag beside the bed, hands already working. Gloves on. Pressure first. She tore a strip of cloth from the edge of the curtain and pressed it against the deepest wound—just above the ribs. Blood poured through, warm and too fast.
"Stay with me…"
She muttered, a whisper both habit and hope. Her fingers moved with practiced precision. She pulled out a vial of gauze and a needle threaded with silvery-black suturing thread—impossibly strong, enchanted with a simple preservation charm.
Kara pinched one wound closed and stitched quickly. She moved to the next.
The room was dim, lit only by the moonlight bleeding through the window, but her hands moved like she could see every nerve and vessel. Her card pulsed faintly against her chest. Not glowing—but warm, like a second heartbeat.
She didn't know exactly how it worked. Just that it did.
A gamble. A miracle. But it wasn't enough to trust magic alone.
She worked fast—cleansing each wound with an alcohol pad, stitching when needed, pressing her palm flat to the final one, murmuring words that had no true meaning but gave her courage. Beneath her palm, Selene's body stirred.
A shimmer barely visible ran across the stitched wounds like a ripple of heat. The bleeding slowed. The girl's breathing evened.
Kara pressed both hands to her chest. Her card burned hot in her pocket. A faint glow shimmered from beneath her sleeves. The wounds pulsed. Slowly, the bleeding stopped. The skin sealed.
Selene groaned faintly.
Kara exhaled hard.
"Shhh," Kara whispered. "You're okay. You're safe."
Selene gasped, breath catching in her throat as life returned.
She looked toward the door. Her hands trembled slightly.
Whoever did this… hadn't seen her.
And the killer wouldn't know she had been here.
She stood, wiped the blood off her gloves with a cloth, and faded back into her dorm while Selene is resting in her bed...