Morning came with silence far too heavy. The usual hum of tension was replaced by something worse—resignation. And then… the mechanical chime of the announcer's voice echoed through the halls of Noirhaven like a final judgment.
"Four participants have died this night."
Four.
That number struck harder than expected.
"Noel Strand. Role: Gangster. Civilian Team."
"Desmond Rake. Role: Penance. Civilian Team."
"Ashen Crow. Role: Assassin. Mafia Team."
"Damien Cord. Role: Thief. Mafia Team."
My fingers curled slowly around the silver card in my coat pocket—the Proxy. I didn't speak. Not right away. I let the silence drag, and then I raised my voice, cold and certain.
"We vote him," I said sharply, gaze locked.
The others flinched slightly at the firmness of my tone. My stare was already locked on the final piece—Lucien Vale.
He was seated like always, hands folded calmly on the table, posture immaculate. But this time… he didn't sit in silence.
He smiled.
And for the first time since this game began, I could see him—truly see him.
Sharp cheekbones, pale golden eyes like dull embers, and a jawline chiseled like a statue. His black hair was swept neatly back, a single silver ring on his finger catching the light. Every movement he made was graceful, calculated. Dangerous.
A handsome devil carved in ice and fire.
"You think you've won?" he said, his voice a low murmur wrapped in velvet steel. He stood, brushing the edge of the table with his fingertips. "After all the scrambling, all the death, all the sacrifices… you think this is your victory?"
He looked right at me, smile never fading.
"Go on," he said, voice dipped in mockery. "Vote me. I dare you."
I stared back, unfazed. Dominant. Cold. He was trying to provoke me—but I saw it for what it was. A performance. A last-minute bluff. He wanted hesitation. Doubt.
He wouldn't get it.
"Do you really think I'd hesitate?" I said, voice low and edged with contempt. "You think I'd fall for such a cheap provocation?"
I stood up now, stepping forward, every ounce of me screaming resolve.
"You're not scary anymore, Lucien," I added. "You're just cornered."
He tilted his head slightly, amused. "Am I?"
Everyone else around the table was frozen. Iris held her breath. Rin clutched her sleeve tight. Even Kara, usually so calm, was staring like she couldn't breathe.
But Lucien and I… we were still. Locked.
Two kings on a blood-stained board.
And then the screen lit up again.
"Voting phase complete."
"Lucien Vale – VOTE: INVALID."
"Passive Skill Activated: 'Shadow Crown.' First Vote Immunity. Voter Identification Obscured."
The words punched me harder than a blade.
I clenched my jaw.
And immediately, without pause, I used my skill.
Skill: Judge. "I saw him directly killed the reporter on my own eyes."
A silence.
Then the system replied:
"Target cannot be executed."
"Threat recognition: Obscured. Judgment nullified."
My mind clicked. My fists clenched. The fucking card. Of course. It wasn't just visual manipulation—his passive skill nullifies because we can't identify him before unless the threat level is actively revealed. And with no detective or sensor alive anymore… there was no way to expose him through mechanics alone.
He was invincible.
For now…
The table remained quiet. My hand slammed the wood—hard.
Lucien walked slowly, steps echoing in the heavy air. He walked past Iris, past Rin, past Kara, the trace of a smirk playing on his lips like a razor's edge. Then he stopped right at the exit of the voting chamber and turned back.
"You made a mistake," he said with a hushed voice that cut through the tension. "You should've voted her out... not me."
I blinked.
"She?" I said, instantly turning toward Leira.
But Lucien's gaze was already leaving us.
"You aimed for checkmate," he said, "but forgot that even kings fall when the board breaks."
And with that, he vanished beyond the door.
The room burst into whispers, panicked murmurs. Eyes flew to Leira, then to each other. I stared down at the table, jaw tight.
I had him. And I lost it.
He played us.
No—he played me.
And now… one of us will die tonight.
Maybe more.
But not before I take the board back.
Not before I remind him who the real player is.
This isn't over.
Not until Civilian win.
It wasn't night yet, but something felt wrong.
The air was too still. The halls—usually humming with murmurs, tension, paranoia—felt silent, like they were holding their breath. The digital clock in the hallway read 2:00 PM.
And then we saw her—Iris.
She turned the corner at full sprint, barefoot, scraped, her hair wild, and eyes wide with unfiltered terror. Not anger.
Fear.
"Iris!" Rin shouted, but she didn't even glance our way. She bolted past us like a rabbit fleeing the wolves.
"Run," she gasped, barely even breathing. "You can't win against them."
And then—
Footsteps.
Heavy. Calm. Measured.
From the shadowed hallway behind her emerged Lucien Vale. The Mafia.
Still calm.
Still smiling.
Still holding that goddamn knife.
He wasn't in a hurry.
He didn't need to be.
At his side was a girl. Pale skin, dark circles beneath her golden eyes. Thin-lipped. She walked with a tilt to her head, fingers twitching like she was humming to a song only she could hear.
Leira Vaughn…
While she is smiling and laughing like a fucking kid.
And then, behind them—
Kara.
I froze.
No.
No.
Not her.
But there she was. Quiet. Expression unreadable. She walked several steps behind Leira like someone being dragged forward by invisible strings. Not dazed, not broken. But…
Changed.
Rin's voice cracked beside me. "No… no. Kara wouldn't—"
"She picked up the Assassin card," I muttered.
I didn't know how I knew. But I knew. Somehow, sometime between last night and now, she must've found it—Ashen Crow's card.
And now…
She stood on the wrong side of the line.
Lucien raised his head. His eyes landed on me like a hunter spotting prey through the trees. His voice was calm.
"I didn't expect you to still be walking," he said.
Rin stepped half a step forward, shielding me by instinct, even though she was trembling. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Nothing personal," Lucien said. "Just finishing what was started."
And Leira giggled beside him—sharp and sudden like glass shattering.
"Tick-tock, tick-tock," she whispered, her fingers dancing near her mouth. "We're almost at the end."
My brain screamed for options, escape routes, any plan.
I looked at Kara, desperately hoping to find something—anything—behind her blank expression. Doubt. Pain. Guilt.
But there was nothing.
Iris's warning rang in my head again.
"You can't win against them."
Not him.
Not them.
They weren't a Mafia team anymore.
They were a storm.
And we were caught in the eye of it.
Lucien twirled the knife in his fingers once, then began stepping forward. The corridor lights flickered—once, then twice—and then held steady.
Behind me, Rin grabbed my wrist. "We need to run."
But I didn't move.
Not yet.
Because even now, even as death marched toward us wrapped in a flawless smile and jagged blades—
My mind was still calculating.
And as the cold settled in, so did the one thought I clung to like lifeline:
There's always a move left. Even in checkmate.
A drop of blood hit the ground.
Not mine.
But it was enough to say: The final act had begun.
And we weren't all making it to the end…