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Let's go over what we know about Edward Brooks.

He's 24, a year younger than Elijah despite his attitude, single, and graduated at the top of his class at Oxford with various degrees in the sciences. Experienced and certified—heck, he's over certified—at his young age, it was no surprise to anyone Fortuna Institute would hire him, especially with their high standards when it came to hiring to accepting admissions.

Many people, including his family, expected him to become a surgeon with his qualifications, but for some reason, he chose to become a professor instead. Why? No one knows.

He's from an old-money family. The Brooks surname could be traced back for generations, even as far as the 1600s. There were rumors that he was a direct descendant of Henry St John, the 1st Viscount Bolingbroke, but his students prefer to just assume he's the great-something-grandson of the infamous Jack the Ripper. His knife-like glares do match the part.

And then there was Alicia Florence. Single, also of a young age, 25, and a well-loved art teacher with enough experience and talent to her name that garnered her entry into the prestigious academy.

Now, what do these two people have in common, you ask?

Nothing. Nothing at all. They were two people who barely spoke to each other before in school and taught in entirely different Halls. There should be no reason for the two to associate.

Unless Brooks was out for blood and Florence was a Face. But she wasn't, or so she claimed.

(Y/n) held the brunette's card in between her fingers and inspected it. Number eight, the High Priestess. She's never seen a Face's card before, so she had no way of telling if Ms. Florence was truly a Number or really a Face just by looking at a card. She was no detective; she was but a normal girl who only wished to spend her time in peace and preferably asleep.

"Edward?" Elijah frowned. "You mean grumpy face? The dude who rejected the coffee I made for him the first day of work and gave me a stink eye? A real lovable fella, I tell you."

"Yes, him," Alicia replied, her voice a quiet murmur. "Edward Brooks, the physics teacher."

What are the chances that three of my teachers are all participants? Four if you count Mrs. Richards, but she's an onlooker. "Do you know why he's after you?" She asked.

"I'm afraid not, but—"

"Let me get this straight," Elijah growled. He rose to his feet. "That son of a b*tch is the one who made those marks on your arms? When I see him I swear I'm going to snap that bastard in half—"

"No, please don't!" Alicia grabbed the end of his shirt to stop him. "He's not the one who did this. These..." She tugged the sleeve of her blouse down lower in a vain attempt to conceal the crimson chains around her wrists. "They're my fault, actually. I...panicked."

"Panicked? For what?"

"Edward approached me at first," she began to explain. "I'm not quite sure why. It was yesterday, I believe, one day after all...this began. He didn't say much besides an order for me to follow him. He was rather caring, I must say. I felt much calmer in his presence. But when he saw him..."

Her voice trailed off and her eyes lost focus, just for a moment, but enough for (Y/n) to catch it. "What was I saying? Oh yes, Edward saw Charles and got really angry. It's no surprise really, the two were always on bad terms with each other. Everyone knows. But why, I'm not sure. We began to run and I didn't want to leave; I was always closer with Charles than him, after all, and that's where things got messy."

She exhaled a long, shuddering breath before continuing, her fingers playing nervously with a lock of her hair. "Edward got really mad and easily overpowered Charles. He tied my hands together and locked me in a closet, telling me to not go anywhere. The bindings weren't uncomfortably tight, but I was really confused, you have to understand. So I broke free and ran away, resulting in these..." She motioned helplessly at her arms.

"And he's out looking for you," (Y/n) finished. "You sure you don't have any clue on why?"

"Yes, I'm quite sure."

She felt like there was something very basic here that she wasn't getting. Something that could easily answer all the questions in her head. "Then what about those two? Did they know each other for a long time?"

Alicia looked down at her lap in thought. "I'm not sure...they were teaching here far longer than I was. I imagine they started at the same time. They might have known each other before. After all, they are the same age, and both Oxford graduates."

Is it a simple rivalry? (Y/n) frowned. Something didn't add up. That doesn't explain why Mr. Brooks is after Ms. Florence. Maybe he likes h—yeah no, that's stupid. The guy doesn't like people. I've seen his attitude around other students and teachers and it reminded me a whole lot like popsicle. Only with more ignoring and less insulting.

Maybe Mr. Howards is the problem here. But he's the model teacher. Everyone likes him, student and faculty alike. I can't see him doing anything wrong. Heck, that guy even lets me sleep in class. That's a whole lot of brownie points with me.

(Y/n) was no detective. If anything, that would be Jasper. She relayed the information to said male and watched his expression as he processed the information, hoping he saw something she didn't. Or maybe she was just making a big deal out of nothing.

His face looked thoughtful at most. "It is unlike Mr. Brooks to behave in such a way," he mused. "Either that means Ms. Florence is the Seeker or she is the Seeker's next target"—then he brightened—"Keller, remember what the headmaster said about the uses of the cards?"

The other male looked just as confused as (Y/n) was. "To take to the commons room for supplies or to send a message—"

"Precisely. Like how the Judgement card marks a rulebreaker, the Death card marks the Seeker's next target. If Ms. Florence has it, it would mean Mr. Brooks, the Tuner, wants to protect her from the Seeker and take whoever that is down in the process."

"Wait, are you saying Mr. Howards is the Seeker?" Keller laughed incredulously. "That's impossible. I met up with him before you, Jasper. He even showed me his card and helped me out before we split up. There's no way. It's gotta be someone else."

Jasper frowned. "It can't be any of my friends, that's for sure. Which means it has to be a third party."

"Then...who?"

As if it was the very devil who came knocking on their door, their phones ran simultaneously. It was a new message and much to their combined horrors, from the headmaster.

Nova Charlot, Number 16, the Alchemist has been killed by the Seeker. May Fortuna smile kindly on the rest of you.

And right outside their door, they heard a soft thud, the unmistakable sound of a body being thrown.

WINTER:HALL ━━━━━༻ ❀ ༺━━━━━ вєfσяє

There were three reasons someone may be killed. One, out of fun or innocent curiosity. A morbid fascination with the art of murder. Two, for a job or requirement. Done with a motive and for a purpose, noble or not.

And three, the victim knew too much. After all, the dead cannot betray any secrets.

To the Seeker, Nova Charlot was merely another person who knew too much but was worth too little. So to death's door, she went.

As the unnamed Seeker worked swiftly and quickly, ringing the purple-haired girl's throat with an open cut similar to all their kills following the first, they ceased to notice they were being watched. Watched by the guard dog assigned to Winter Hall and aide the person he had mixed feelings for.

Silver eyes watched the figure steal the girl's card from her body and slip it into their pockets. Silver eyes watched as the Seeker finally pulled their blade out of the girl's chest and wiped it on the corpse's uniform. Silver eyes watched as the once living girl's now breathless body was dragged behind the figure into the distance.

Leon didn't feel anything as he watched the gruesome display. Had it been butchering, he might've reacted. But the clean cuts and expert precision—even as one who rarely touched a knife, he had to commend the Seeker on their adeptness that rivaled even Jaehyun's.

The male, after making sure they were gone, finally stepped out of his hiding spot. He looked at the smear of blood on the floor where the girl's body had been with an impassive expression as if he was watching a line of ants climb back into their nest. Then at his hands, as if he was half-expecting the blood to be on them. He examined his large hands, his metallic eyes tracing the thin, almost invisible white scar running down his palm.

A knife wound, he remembered. And after that, he vowed to never touch a blade outside the kitchen again.

What good did knives ever do him? When he needed that sharpness the most, when he lacked the strength, the knife failed him. It failed to sever through that taut rope he distinctively remembered wounded around his mother's neck. It failed to release his still-living mother from the depression that gripped her and only left ugly scars on her wrists. And it failed to ever save his little sister from the psychopath who took her.

All of this made his world grow smaller and smaller until all he could see was darkness and the single source of sunlight that was his brother. Little Conan, innocent Conan. Oblivious to the monster that plagued the big brother he respected and loved so much. Oblivious to the shadows that dragged down the Matthews name and the lengths his brother had to go through to keep him safe.

Leon never thought he'd need anyone else. He'd be fine with just him and his brother.

So why did the memory of her face awaken in him such a fierce instinct to protect?

The world was a dangerous, cruel, and unforgiving place. It wasn't a place suitable for the innocent. She was innocent, he recalled. She didn't see his darkness. And if she did, she didn't care.

She wasn't afraid. She brought Conan back to him. And Conan liked her.

And that was all that mattered.

Wordlessly, the male turned on his heel away from the spot and headed down the same hallway the Seeker went into like the edge lord—uh, the broody kid he is. He played with the keys in his pocket as he walked, relishing in the cold metal that grounded him, soothed him. He followed the figure as they approached a locked classroom and with one solid swing, threw the corpse against the door.

The voices in the room quieted. Leon watched from behind a wall as the Seeker dusted their hands off and began heading in a different direction before the inhabitants of the room could discover the figure's identity.

The black-haired male felt nothing but contempt for the figure as they walked away. It took all of his willpower to not rush out and snap their neck in half before they knew what was happening. But if he did that, she would see. And he couldn't let her come near anymore bloodshed. She and Conan were the same—they wouldn't be able to survive in this dangerous world by themselves. Isn't that right?

Before he could remove the body, the door opened. Leon mentally cursed the person who did so, a tall, well-built brown-haired boy who didn't appear to notice anything at first, until he spotted the body. His face blanched.

"G-guys!" Several more people emerged from the room to peek over his shoulder at the commotion despite his attempts to stop them. One was a navy blue-haired male and another was a tall, tanned silver-haired teacher.

Leon nearly betrayed his position by letting out a sigh of relief. He didn't see her. That was good.

"N-Nova...?" Came a broken voice. It was (Y/n), her face draining of all color as she gazed down at the body. The navy blue-haired male placed an arm around her shoulders, his expression pained. She dropped down on her knees, reaching forward to part the fallen girl's purple-blue locks. It was, much to her horror, Nova.

The look on her face and the slight trembling in her hands surprised the male. It was so different from her usual I-don't-give-a-f*ck-about-you persona, but that wasn't what unsettled him.

She really is like Deryn...

It only heightened his resolve.

WINTER:HALL ━━━━━༻ ❀ ༺━━━━━ ℓαtєя

What did taking a life entail? Was the question the (h/c)-haired girl asked herself over and over again as she scrutinized the silver gun in her hands. How did it feel when the Seeker took all those lives? Was it easy? Did they feel guilt? Are they even capable of feeling guilt?

The gun felt heavier than ever as her resolve wavered between continuing to only shoot blanks, or start utilizing the bullets she stored safely in their case in her pocket. How ironic, she thought bitterly. We were just reading Macbeth, where Lady Macbeth is so plagued by the guilt of those she helped kill she began to hallucinate.

It was Wednesday, the same day she was supposed to meet with Tristan in the science lab to assist Mr. Brooks. And the same day she discovered the man was fully capable of murder.

The weight of the weapon was the weight of her heart, heavy but light at the same time at her recollection of the deaths. Heavy at their loss but light because still, she didn't quite feel it, didn't quite believe it. Everything still felt like a bad dream. A daydream that had gone horribly wrong. Only, it was one she'd never wake up from.

(Y/n) shook her head. Even I'm getting annoyed at myself. As Noves was killed what was I doing, sitting, around? If she wanted to prevent any more of her friends from being targeted, she'd have to take the Seeker out. It was either she walked into the Seeker's trap by doing nothing or played right into the headmaster's hand by killing the Seeker.

It was a matter of who she despised more. The one doing the dirty work or, the one behind the scenes.

What would she choose? Both options made her a killer; sitting back and watching her friends die, didn't that still make her their murderer?

Life has taught her never to choose immediately and always look for a third option. And so she did, going over the facts in her mind. Who is the Seeker? That was arguably the most important thing on her agenda right now. It would open up a whole lot more options if she knew their identity. Heck, she didn't even know if they were a he or a she.

Everyone in the game seems to be someone I know, she mused. The Seeker could be too. It can't be anyone in the room with me; they didn't leave once when Noves was killed. There was still the possibility one of them was working with the Seeker, but it was best not to doubt them in this scenario. With doubt and distrust brings paranoia. And with paranoia brings chaos and more murder.

There's Jason, she hated to admit. I don't think it could be him but we never know. There's also Mr. Wright and Mr. Howards, but neither of the two looks like the killing type. I mean, how could a cat lover be a murderer? Who else do I know?

(Y/n) thought of the messages she saw sent between Mackenzie and a redhead she forgot the name of. The other one said they'd send me a nasty present. Could Noves be the present she was talking about?

So many possibilities but no clear evidence of who the killer was. For sure, Reese, Jas, Kels, Eli, and Ms. Florence aren't the Seeker. Izzy and the others can't be either; they can't be capable of taking a life so easily. Mr. Brooks is the Tuner, or so it seems. So that only leaves Mr. Wright and the girl if they are in the game, and Mr. Howards.

She checked her phone. June's taking a really long time. But just as she thought that, a new message appeared on her screen. It was the said girl, who had sent a file to her with a short apology attached. (Y/n) fired back a quick thanks and immediately downloaded the file. She couldn't check the code from her phone so she could only trust that the other girl was able to recreate it successfully.

If I can use the cameras through my phone I can uncover everyone's identities, the (h/c)-haired girl realized. And then I can track their movements and lead them astray when needed. Then no one has to die. It's a win-win!

Her mood uplifted by the prospect of being able to clear this "Game" without having to cause anyone harm, she began pulling open closet doors and cabinets in the drama room in search of a USB cord someone may have left behind. Of course, it might've been naive or foolish for her to believe she could get through the Game so easily, but if no one ever believed, how did airplanes become a thing?

"What are you doing?" Jasper asked her curiously. "Need help?"

"I need a USB cord," she answered as she rummaged through a drawer. "Do any of you have one?"

"Lucinda would. She has everything imaginable in that purse of hers. But no, I'll help you look."

"Too bad she's not here then."

Elijah stuck his hands in his pockets and withdrew him. In his hands were loose change, some gum wrappers, and surprisingly enough, a USB cord. "I call this trick the Summoning Act," he declared proudly. "I should quit this job and become a magician."

"And break the hearts of all those girls by taking your bangers and mash face away from them?" The (e/c)-eyed girl snorted.

If he detected her sarcasm, he ignored it. "It can't be helped, my dudes. I'm sorry, but life is harsh." He wiped a fake tear from his eyes. "Like, bro, why the f*ck am I, a gym teacher, picking up dead bodies? That is the most useless job ever in this Game thing!"

"Would you rather be a Seeker, my good sir?"

"No, madam. Forgive me, I was wrong."

"That's what I thought." She took the cord he offered her and fitted the end into her phone to make sure it matched. And much to her relief, it did.

"What are you going to do with that?" Jasper asked curiously. "Charge your phone?"

"Electrocute everyone to death?" Keller suggested.

She rolled her eyes. "No, you foolish peasants. I need to link my phone to the security cameras to hack into them. Then I'll be able to use them on my phone."

Jasper frowned in concern. "But we aren't allowed to use the cameras—"

"Rules are meant to be broken. And who's enforcing them now with the Fixer gone?"

They couldn't say she didn't have a point. "Okay, fine," the male relented. "When are we doing this?"

"I was actually thinking of now..."

"Now?! Shouldn't we plan a little first?"

"Plan? Planning's for noobs. I don't plan. I bullsh*t."

Her irresponsible and slightly reckless nature really hurt Jasper's conscience and made his OCD spike up. "If you think I'm letting you bulldoze in there without a clear plan, think again. You're not Carmen, (Y/n). You're at least...slightly more reasonable than her."

"But what if I aspire to be like her—"

"No 'what if's. We do things my way in this house."

"Sheesh, okay, mom."

"Don't call me that."

"Fine, boss lady."

"Don't call me that either."

His plan was a pretty solid one. Then again, (Y/n) couldn't tell a foolproof and a foolhardy plan from her right foot to her left foot. So what was she to judge? They would all go towards the security room on the ground floor Main Hall before splitting into three groups of two. Jasper and Keller would be on the lookout on the right and Elijah and Alicia would be on the left, while that left (Y/n) alone to do her business in the room.

And she was the one with the gun. Jasper explained she was the tech whiz here, not them. But was plugging a cable into a matching outlet really that hard?

She raised her hand. "If we're splitting into groups of two, does that mean my partner is Anna—"

"No Carmen questions allowed."

"Booo."

As they crept out the classroom with various makeshift weapons: Keller with a large wooden stick, Jasper with his purifying mist, Elijah with his fists, and Alicia with her...heels, (Y/n) couldn't help but feel pretty worried about their ragtag band. This was the sort of situation that always failed.

But whatever, who cares.

And surprisingly enough, they made it to the Main Hall without any trouble. They saw a few other players from time to time but they were able to bypass them safely. And then (Y/n) found herself in the security room. Without wasting any time to admire the state-of-the-art equipment she almost found herself drooling over or the very suspicious-looking smear of red on the floor, she immediately went to the monitors.

Circle outlet, triangle outlet, square outlet, she was looking for one that matched her USB cord. Why do people even need triangle outlets? What is this, geometry class?

She eventually found one successfully and plugged it in while tapping on the file June had sent her. A loading screen appeared on her phone, from zero percent to one hundred. And a few seconds later, the load was complete.

Time to get the hell outta here. The (h/c)-haired girl immediately turned tail and sped out of the room and its shady-looking red stain. "Guys, I'm done—" She opened her mouth to inform them of her success, but a few raised voices made her close her mouth.

Everyone was gathered a few steps down the hallway, talking in animated voices. About what, she didn't know. She walked up to them, confused. "What's happening?"

It was Mr. Howards, his hands raised in surrender as he tried to reason with Elijah. "I swear to God, Elijah," the blond male was saying. "I have no part in whatever this is. I tried to help Alice get away from Edward. I just didn't think he was skilled in hand-to-hand combat. My shoulder still hurts from his throw." He clasped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.

"So why were you following us?" Elijah accused. "Are you the Beaker?"

"It's seeker, Mr—uh, Elijah," Keller corrected him with an awkward laugh.

"Yeah, yeah, tomato tomahto. So are you?"

Mr. Howards looked mad as he shook his head. "For the love of all things good, no! That madman—or madwoman—has been killing countless ones of my students! The thought of him chasing after another one makes me so angry." He clenched his hands into fists so tight his knuckles were almost completely white. "This might come off as rude, but can I have a confirmation none of you are the Seeker?"

Elijah inspected his face suspiciously before his face broke into a friendly grin. "Sure, bro. Welcome to the team. I'm the, uh, Janitor? Is that what we call it?"

"It's 'Cleaner,' M—uh, Elijah..."

"Yeah, that's what I said. Cleaner. It's so dumb but that's what I am?"

Mr. Howards had a thoughtful look on his face. "The Cleaner who disposes of bodies and their cards, reducing the card count," he murmured. "You rack up points by getting rid of cards, do you not? So why are you working with us Numbers?"

"Do I need a reason to help my students?" Elijah shrugged. "Besides"—he reached back and clapped (Y/n)'s back, so hard she nearly fell over—"This brat's a kid I knew since she was a bug—"

"If anyone's a bug it's you," she muttered bitterly.

"—So if anything happens to her, her old man would be out for my blood. I know Aaron, that dude's awesome."

"Please stop coming over to your 'Movie Nights.'"

"Why not? They're fun. You should join us next time, kid."

"I'd rather chug down a bottle of Tabasco."

"See my pain?" Elijah sobbed to the blond teacher. "See how I'm treated? I'm not respected as a teacher by this brat—"

"Call me a brat again and I'll tell your microwave you're cheating on it with the school microwave."

"See what I mean?! Kid, learn to respect your elders!"

(Y/n) scoffed and looked away. "I do respect my elders. Just not ones that abuse microwaves."

"Microwaves are hard to use, okay?!"

"Tell that to the stove, the T.V., the computer, and every other electronic that had the misfortune to fall into your hands.

"Ah, that reminds me," Elijah turned towards the blond with an apologetic expression. "I haven't paid you back yet for breaking your phone, did I?"

My job here is done. She stifled the urge to laugh at him and groan at the same time.

"It's really fine," Mr. Howards assured him. He had been watching their exchange with a bemused expression. "It's just a phone and it was just an accident. I can get it replaced, don't worry."

"It's still costly though..." Elijah didn't sound very sure.

"My salary's enough to cover it, so don't sweat it, Elijah." Then to Ms. Florence, "Are you alright, Alice? What happened before must've really surprised you."

"I'm alright, thanks for asking, Charles," the brunette smiled softly. "My nerves have been a little jittery but Elijah being here really helped."

The said male looked up at the mention at his name. "I did what now?"

Alicia laughed at his antics. "You see? Anyway, I'm sure my poor students have been faring worse. It's the students that are becoming the victims. As a teacher, I can't let that continue. Only..." She looked down at her hands with a forlorn look, visibly wilting. "There's not much I can see myself doing. At least, if I'm alone."

Mr. Howards smiled and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "But you're not alone. We'll be fine."

"I sure hope so..."

The English teacher turned his attention to the three who were standing to the side. "Shall we group our cards?" He suggested. "To prove we are what we say we are? Well, I suppose the cards can't really distinguish between Numbers and Faces, but at least that's a show of trust? Trust has become quite vital in this...situation, shall I say?"

Jasper, Keller, and (Y/n) shared a look before shrugging. "Alright," Jasper said. He retrieved his card from his phone case. "I'm Number 11, the Fool. Keller's Number 9, the Lion. (Y/n)'s number 10, the Hermit." He gestured towards Elijah and Alicia. "Mr. Johnson is Number 21, the Cleaner, and the Hierophant. Ms. Florence is Number 9, the High Priestess. And you, Mr. Howards?"

"I said to call me Elijah..." Elijah grumbled but the navy blue-haired male merely smiled and ignored him.

Mr. Howards held up his card. "Number 15, Justice. I can't help but notice all these cards are numbered strangely. This card is usually numbered eight or eleven in standard decks."

"The headmaster does whatever he wants," Jasper said bitterly. "Who's to stop him?"

No one could argue with him. Then their phone buzzed. Speak of the devil and he shall come.

It was a message from the headmaster.

SPRING:HALL ━━━━━༻ ❀ ༺━━━━━ вєfσяє

For a whole decade now, Reese and (Y/n) have been stuck together at the hip. Despite the (h/c)-haired girl's bullying and insisting that she found him annoying, she always came back in the end. Even after their fights about guacamole versus salsa and pillow brands, neither of the two would let the animosity last for long, even if it was mostly Reese who was the one to mend things.

Being separated from the person he's known his whole life and was closer to than even his family was something he couldn't stand. Especially since their current situation was anything but soothing.

He had gone to Winter Hall after losing track of her but when he didn't find her there, he went back to Spring to make a full loop around the school campus. The trek took him a while, but it was worth it.

Still, nothing. Nothing at all. All he found were a few more cards—sure, that was useful, but he didn't care much for the cards right now—and some corpses lying around. Perfectly normal, just another day at Fortuna Institute. He's long grown used to the bloodshed and he wasn't sure if he should be frightened or relieved by that fact.

He closed the door of a classroom behind him after not being able to find the (h/c)-haired girl there and went into another room. He didn't expect to find her, but what harm could hoping for it do?

The room was nothing unusual. Sure, it was a lot nicer than most classrooms in other schools, but compared to the rest of Fortuna's classrooms, it was ordinary. Nothing struck him as out of the ordinary; no messed up furniture, no bloodstain on the ground. The redhead sighed and went further into the room in search of another card. Since he was here already, why not search for one? Another Hanged Man would be rather useful.

The room seemed familiar, but with the different lighting and the empty atmosphere, Reese couldn't quite place his finger on which room it was. But he didn't mind it. That was important right now. He went behind the teacher's desk, the items on it left perfectly untouched. There was a photograph, he saw, framed carefully by wood. There was also a mug, some books, writing supplies, and many files. A typical professor's desk.

He ignored all that and pulled the handle of the drawers. All of them were locked save for one. He didn't think much of it as he pulled it open, revealing a drawer full of photographs, some cut out and stuck back together.

What the f*ck is this? Reese's face turned disgusted as he pulled one photograph out. Is this teacher a narcissist or—

The face in the photograph on the desk was familiar. Very familiar. And the photographs he had found in the desk were being cut out and stuck onto the same person's photograph like a lover's picture.

The redhead's eyes widened as he regarded the pictures with a mixture of shock, disgust, and anger warring on his face. This person is—!

But he never got to finish that thought. A strange fragrance floated past his nose. It was a sweet, floral aroma, something that would make people stop to savor it. Something that people would buy as their perfume and spray a little onto their wrists, behind their ears.

But it was a fragrance Reese dreaded.

F*ck, this is jasmine! His breathing turned labored and ragged as his allergies began to kick in. My inhaler! He gasped as he slid to the floor, one hand clutching his chest as the other fumbled in his pockets for the inhaler.

It wasn't there.

The last thing he saw before his vision turned blurry was the door opening and a male whose face he could not see through his hooded eyes entering the room.

Then everything turned dark.

"Good night, Reese Grayson."

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A/N: Hi it's me again, here to ruin the nonexistent suspense. Here's some fanart two of my readers made! It was so cool learning people actually liked this book and the characters O.o

Thanks to Rebekkawowe for the awesome drawing of (Y/n) and the P4! Tristan finally got his glasses 😌



And thanks to iiliveforhentai for all these cute drawings of the P4 and Reese! I love how edgy Leon be looking.