The silence between us wasn't heavy. It was soft. Like the kind that fills the room when you don't need to speak to be heard.
Kara sat across from me on the floor, legs pulled to her chest, chin resting on her knees. Her hair framed her face, and her eyes were no longer clouded by pain—at least, not for now.
I broke the silence with a small smile. "You know… you look less terrifying when you're not sneaking out of wardrobes."
She scoffed, trying not to laugh. "And you look less guarded when you're not pretending to hate people."
"I don't pretend," I said, deadpan.
That made her laugh—and for the first time, it didn't sound broken.
We spoke about mundane things. She liked tea but hated bitter ones. I admitted I didn't know the difference between chamomiles and poison unless it came with a label.
She loved the rain. I preferred cloudy skies without the wetness.
I told her I read mystery books. She told me she once treated a man who swallowed a coin because he thought it would make him lucky. It didn't.
She asked me what I wanted to be, before all this.
"Alive," I said quietly.
She didn't ask again.
There was something wholesome in our quiet. It wasn't happiness not really but something safer. Something like peace in the middle of chaos.
Then, a faint creak broke the silence.
Both of us froze.
We didn't speak. We didn't need to.
Flashback – Earlier that Night
"If someone comes tonight," I said quietly, "I want us to be ready."
Kara looked over, confused. "Ready how?"
"I'll leave the door unlocked. If they think I'm careless, they'll come in," I murmured. "If it happens… you hide in the wardrobe. Bring your phone. Record everything."
She raised an eyebrow. "You want me to record a murder?"
"No," I replied. "I want evidence. Or a face. Something we can use. I'll pretend to be asleep—make myself look vulnerable. If they try anything, we'll know more."
Kara hesitated. "That's risky."
"I can defend myself if I'm in danger," I said calmly, meeting her eyes. "So don't worry. I'm not just bait. I'm prepared."
There was silence, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she nodded, slowly, silently getting up to move a pillow and make sure the wardrobe door creaked as little as possible. I watched her adjust the space where she'd fit.
I didn't say it aloud, but if anyone was going to get attacked tonight… it would be me.
And I'd rather know who than die guessing.
Present – 3:10 AM
We were in position.
The room was dim. Only the moonlight spilled through the half-open blinds. I lay in bed, one arm over my face, breathing slow, rhythmic. Kara had vanished from sight, the wardrobe barely ajar.
Another creak.
Then… a knock.
Soft. Hesitant. Not like a killer's.
A voice followed, muffled but familiar.
"Hey… are you awake?"
It was a girl.
My heart skipped.
"I… I just need a moment. I-I know it's late. I just… can I interview something."
The voice was unmistakable.
The Reporter.
But not the fast-talking, nosy girl who chased interviews like candy.
No, this voice trembled. It cracked in the middle of words. It was a whisper hanging on fear.
"I don't want to wake anyone else. I just need someone to talk to."
Kara shifted slightly in the wardrobe, just enough for me to see her eyes—confused. Alarmed.
What was the Reporter doing at 3:10 in the morning?
And why did she sound so… broken?
I kept still. The plan hadn't changed. But everything else had.
Was it a trap?
Or had something happened?
I didn't move.
I didn't speak.
And I listened.
As her voice outside the door quivered again—
"Please… I think I know who is in the mafia team."
The words struck sharper than any scream could.
My spine straightened instinctively, and I turned to face her fully. Her voice was trembling, but it wasn't the usual act she played in the public spaces. This was raw, serious… and different.
"Okay," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, "you can come in. Lock the door in the process."
She did exactly that—shutting it slowly and twisting the lock with a soft click that suddenly made the air feel thinner.
She didn't move closer right away. Just stood there, her eyes sunken. I decided to cut straight to it.
"What do you mean you know who's in the Mafia?" I asked. "And why are you telling me this? You might not realize this… but I could be one of them."
Before I could finish, she stepped forward with a sudden jolt of defiance and cut me off.
"You're not!"
I blinked. "How are you so sure?"
"It's on my card my ability," she said, quietly but firmly. "At first I didn't know how to use it I was confused but not until I realized how useful my role is. Each night, I can access a program on my laptop. It gathers information. I get scattered data conversations, patterns, and suspicions of each people, on the Second night, I can select someone to interview. That interview allows me to glimpse their semi role. Not direct. Just… pieces. Enough."
"You chose me?" I asked, stunned.
She nodded. "You were the first one I investigated."
For a moment, the room was silent again, except for the soft creak of the wardrobe as Kara adjusted herself within it hidden, and stop recording everything.
I didn't show it on my face, but inside, my thoughts were already spiraling like dominoes toppling one after another.
So she can gather information over time and identify roles. But only every Second night. It's not direct. It's not perfect. But it's extremely powerful…
If she can build a timeline, she could become the cornerstone of the entire civilian team. Assuming she lives that long.
But even more than that… she chose me first. Why? Because I'm easy to read? Or because I was the most distant, the quietest? Or… did she see something in me?
I met her eyes again. She wasn't lying. She was tired. Shaken. But still determined to survive all this chaos.
"You… you realize how dangerous this makes you," I muttered.
She laughed lightly, bitterly. "That's why I came here. I can't trust anyone else. I've seen too much… and yet too little. Everyone's playing a game. But you… you watch. You don't speak unless you have to. And you've survived this long despite being a civilian."
"You're the reporter. That's your cover, and your strength," I said. "You gather information, talk to people, and make connections."
"Exactly."
The pieces were starting to fall into place. Not just roles, but synergy. The Doctor can save. The Reporter can identify. I… I don't know what I am beyond a civilian. I'm really confused on what my real role despite having brains isn't nearly enough in this death game.
2 nights between each lead is a perfect time. Not too long and not too short. That means her ability is best used early, not late. Which means the Mafia team likely knows since she was the target at the night…
Was her first death.
I stared at her again. The lively, loud girl from the cafeteria now looked like a ghost stitched back together, literally and metaphorically.
"And what did you see when you investigated me?" I asked.
She smiled faintly. "Civilian"
That word is accurate but except she doesn't know the other one. The symbol. The brain icon that's probably why it only detects the semi role not the whole role.
Kara shifted slightly in the wardrobe. She was still quiet, but I could feel her tension. She'd just learned something huge too.
I nodded slowly. "This changes everything."
"Yes," the reporter replied. "But we have to be careful. If I get caught, I die. If you speak out of place, you die. I'm walking a tightrope."
The room fell heavy with tension as I leaned forward.
"So what did you see? Who's in the Mafia team?" I asked.
The reporter's voice cracked just slightly, her fear barely contained.
"…It was Selene Montgomery," she whispered. "She's one of them."
My heart froze. Selene.
That flirty, magnetic energy. The casual touches. The drawn-out words. The way she got close too easily.
It all made sense now.
She wasn't just naturally seductive she was calculated. Every word, every glance, every smile was an effort to draw information from me. And I let her. I thought she was just strange. Maybe lonely. But she's the key. A high-value player for the Mafia. Probably their Informant and the start of chaos.
Then back then when the other hostess died…
I suddenly remembered she did a brief smirk when the other hostess died… She was enjoying it.
I clenched my jaw, biting back my frustration. She had gotten so close. Too close.
The reporter's hands were trembling now, and her voice faltered as her emotions caught up to her words.
"If I had died that night… I wouldn't have made this discovery," she said. "I—I was lucky. But the moment I realized what I knew… that I'd found something this important… I got scared."
She hugged herself tightly, her breathing shaky.
"I don't want to die. I don't want to disappear in the dark like Isabella. I'm not brave like some of you. I act loud because… because I don't know how else to hide it. But now it's real. This is real."
Her voice broke as she began to cry not loudly, but silently. The kind of cry that comes from holding in fear for too long. The kind that shatters quietly from the inside.
A creak echoed softly from the wardrobe.
The door opened gently, and Kara stepped out. Her eyes softened at the sight before her the reporter curled in on herself, vulnerable and shaking.
Without a word, Kara approached her.
The reporter looked up, startled at first. But then she melted into the Doctor's embrace, her arms wrapping around Kara as though her life depended on it. The tears came freely now, but Kara didn't speak. She simply held her, a steady presence in a house full of lies.
I stood still, letting them have that moment.
I wasn't used to this. I wasn't built for this kind of intimacy. But watching it… reminded me that behind all these roles, behind all the skills and cards and plans, we were still just people trying to survive something we never chose.
Kara stroked the reporter's hair gently, whispering in a low tone. "You're safe here. You found the truth. That matters. You're not alone."
The reporter nodded against her shoulder, gripping her tightly.
After a moment, I moved closer, sitting back on the edge of the bed.
"She's right," I added. "You're not alone in this. You've given us a name. A real lead. That's more than most people here can say."
"I don't want to die," she whispered again.
"You won't," I said, meeting Kara's eyes. "Not if we keep staying one step ahead."
Selene Montgomery. The Hostess. A seductress with a silver tongue and eyes like knives.
If she knew the Reporter knew… this room would be drenched in blood by now.
Which meant we were on a clock. And the Mafia was already starting to notice the missing pieces on their board.