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Anger—she was too tired to feel anger. There was nothing left but desperation and cold, cold agony. (Y/n) shook her head furiously. "Please, Mr. Howards, kill me instead—"

"That wasn't the choice, was it?" The blond man smiled threateningly. "Either Myers or Summers, unless you prefer them both to be gone? I can happily send them off—"

"No!" She interrupted with a shout. "No...I'll choose." (Y/n) closed her eyes and pushed the dreaded words out of her mouth, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. "Isla," she rasped. "I choose Isla."

Lucinda smiled gratefully at the other girl and whispered, "Thank you." Isla started crying harder and shaking her head, her words coming out in incomprehensible slurs.

Mr. Howards stopped counting and clicked his tongue in irritation. "It was about time. Here you go"—he cut the purple-haired girl out of the ropes and threw her forward—"That wasn't so hard now, was it?"

(Y/n) reached out to catch the crying girl before realizing she was still tied up. She turned her hate-filled eyes at the teacher but didn't say anything. Her hate dissolved as her gaze landed at the blonde, whose aquamarines were filled with contentment, resolution, and a tinge of fear she quickly masked when she caught the other girl looking at her.

Lucinda smiled. (Y/n)'s heart broke.

"Don't do this, Charles," Mr. Brooks hissed, as he worked faster at freeing himself behind his back. "Don't pull an innocent student into your problems. It's between you and me, and let's keep it that way. Let the girls and Elijah go, and I'll comply with whatever you want."

Mr. Howards burst into laughter. "Let them go?" He cackled. "Let them go? Edward, you always talked about what's right and what's wrong, justice and injustice, and I hated that about you. What is right without a wrong? What does it mean to be wrong? Is it a crime to not adhere to the justice of the general population?"

He smiled cruelly. "Don't worry, you'll get what's coming for you. After I do this."

With a swift strike, his hand whipped towards Lucinda's neck and the blade sank into her jugular, tearing through the flesh and ripping out in one fluid motion. There was horrified silence as the blonde's mouth opened in a perfect "o," her eyes lighting up with surprise before death dulled her orbs. Blood splattered wetly across the floor, her clothes, and her killer's face, before her body slumped over onto the floor.

Then the screaming started. Isla doubled over on herself as she cried freely, the tears blurring her vision as she shook her head and reaching blindly for the blonde. "No," she sobbed in a hoarse voice. "No, Lucy, please...you're lying to me, right? This can't be happening!"

Elijah looked away as he bit his lip so hard it drew blood. Rage and anger—at himself or Mr. Howards—clashed on his face. Mr. Brooks' harsh mask had fallen, replaced by nothing but pure, primal anger.

As for (Y/n), she didn't know what happened next. All she felt was that she was drowning. Drowning in something unnamable, something that dragged her down, down, down into its bottomless depths.

"How did the exam go?"

"Another fail. Throw him out."

"How about these two? 404 and 403? They're still alive."

"Give them two shots. Straight to the neck. Report the results directly to me."

"Yes, Professor ���."

Mr. Howards hummed as he wiped the blade on a handkerchief, his eyes falling on the shocked silver-haired man. "Have something to say, Elijah?"

"Something to say?" Elijah spluttered. "You just killed a student, Charles, and one that had nothing to do with you. You are not getting away with this, you f*cker."

The blond man's smile only grew wider. "But I am. I'll be killing you and Edward real soon, so don't worry. As you've tried to take everything from me, I'll take everything from you."

"Kill me?" Elijah snorted and strained his arms, his muscles bunching up beneath his shirt as the rope and tape around his wrists grew taut and began to stretch precariously. "I'd like to see you do that, buddy. I grew up in the hood, my brother. I know my way around a fistfight. You think you and your skinny arms can take me."

"No, but I have this"—the blond twirled the balisong skillfully with a single hand—"It's sharp enough to impale you, so it's enough."

Mr. Brooks made an exasperated sound, drawing the two's attention. "Death is not the greatest loss in our lives. The greatest loss is what dies inside while we live. You are the perfect example, Charles. You're living off Lauren's death. You can't come to terms with it, and you're seeking her replacement in other women. You're no more than a living corpse like this."

"Perhaps, but a living one nonetheless. You two will be dead men by the end of this."

"Let me at him," Elijah growled. The tape around his arms began to snap with his brute force, but the ropes stayed intact. "Let me point this motherf*cker in the direction of hell. Better yet, the f*cking asylum. Jail's too good for you."

"Fortuna is basically living hell," Mr. Howards laughed as if it was the funniest thing in the world. "Are you calling me insane, Elijah? I'm perfectly sane, thank you. If anyone's crazy, it's you two. Especially you, Elijah"—his gaze darkened and turned murderous—"Don't think I didn't see your exchange with my Alice. You're crazy who pining after someone who's mine."

"What the f*ck are you talking about?" The silver-haired man scoffed. "Me? And Alice? What the f*ck are you on? Alice's a cool lady and all but nah, if I started dating all the girls would cry—"

"Your ego is suffocating," Mr. Brooks muttered.

"Oi, I heard that! At least I don't look like I have permanent eye shadow all the time."

"How about you two shut up and let me kill you quietly," Mr. Howards snarled. "Another word out of you and I'll make your death slow and painful."

Elijah looked at the black-haired man and then at the blond. "Can I say sentences instead?"

"Elijah, I swear to God—"

"Well sucks for you, 'cause if there's a God, he sure ain't on your side!" With a burst of strength, the bindings on his arms and legs snapped the same time Mr. Brooks was able to sever through his bindings with one of his many concealed knives, a small leaf-shaped one.

Elijah tackled the blond man instantly and held him down. "Edward, get the girls to safety!" He shouted. "I'll dump this guy somewhere he can't hurt anyone no more."

Mr. Brooks nodded and turned his attention towards the two girls. (Y/n) had curled in on herself and was shaking, her hands pressed to her ears as Isla tried her best to comfort her despite the small whimpers escaping her lips.

"I'm sorry," the male said softly. "It was a miscalculation on my part. I didn't expect Charles to drag you two into this as well. Come on, let's get out of here."

"You aren't going anywhere!" Mr. Howards snarled as he fought Elijah off. "Mark my words, Edward, I'll kill you! I'll bloody kill you!

As the black-haired man helped the two out of the library and the two teachers struggled, Tristan remained watching silently from behind the bookshelf, his finger hovering over the trigger of the gun he concealed in his pocket. He slipped deeper into the safety of the shelves to hide from prying eyes and pointed the weapon directly at an exposed part of the blond man's skin.

Charles Howards knew too much about his father, the headmaster, and his family's secrets. Secrets Tristan preferred to remain buried. He didn't hesitate as he pulled the trigger, the gun silently firing a slender bullet into the male's leg under his knee, a bullet wound so small it was virtually undetectable.

He didn't seem to notice as he threw a punch at the silver-haired man. Just what Tristan needed. Elijah Johnson will be a nuisance in the future, he reasoned. Howards dying off all of a sudden might make him suspicious. Better to get rid of him now.

Another click of the trigger, sending another wax bullet towards the two, nestling itself deep into Elijah's side. Tristan slipped back into his hiding spot. All he had to do now was wait. The two men fought, shrugging off the impact on their bodies as blows from the other party until their chests began to tighten, and an uncomfortable sensation gripped their bodies.

It was a good thing ricin was almost indetectable, especially in autopsies, the blue-haired male watched in amusement as Mr. Howards fell first, a hand gripping his chest as the light faded from his eyes. Elijah went next, vomiting a good deal of his stomach's contents and blood before promptly collapsing on the ground.

It was his second favorite poison after arsenic, after all.

Meanwhile, Leon barely flinched as he watched his dormmate nonchalantly kill two grown men, and walk away after confirming their deaths like he had been doing nothing more than window shopping. The black-haired male had arrived in the library before either Tristan or (Y/n) but hesitated in charging in since technically he wasn't supposed to be here. And he wasn't a gun or poison sort of person like Tristan was.

But worse come to worst, he was more than ready to crush that sandy-haired teacher's skull for placing (Y/n) in harm's way. Not to mention all the threats and profanity the group was slurring out; Leon didn't have enough soap to wash their mouths out.

Tristan stopped at the library exit and reloaded his gun, before shoving it into his blazer and without turning around, he addressed the other male, "Come out, Matthews. I'm aware you're there."

The black-haired male peeled himself off the wall and made his way through the shelves to the blue-haired male. His eyes never left the two bodies as he came to a stop before him. "Who are they?"

"Charles Howards and Edward Brooks," Tristan replied off-handedly. "Former participants of the 25th Game. Do you remember?"

Leon looked at the two impassively. "No."

He sighed. "I didn't expect you to recall Johnson, but not even Howards? The man responsible for most of the last Game's deaths."

The other male blinked in confusion. "Who?"

"Nevermind. I should've known you're never interested in things not pertaining directly to you." Tristan coughed into a fist. "Come, the air here stinks of foolishness." He left the library without a second glance at the corpses with the silver-eyed male silently following suit.

Tristan stopped and turned around. "You look like you have a question for me. Ask."

"You told us to stay in our respective Halls," Leon began slowly. "So why did you ask me to leave Winter?"

"Do you really believe I'd ask Fujikawa or Kim?" A flash of disgust passed over the blue-haired male's face. "Those two are incapable of following clear directions. They're bound to mess something up."

Leon looked down at his hands. "...Was killing that girl really a good idea? She was close to—"

"You don't need to worry about any of that, Matthews. Carmen Parker is a bad influence and Kim has been rather...tense about her lately, shall we say? Would you be fine with allowing a reckless person like that near Conan, for instance?"

"Don't bring my brother into this," Leon growled instantly at the mention of his brother's name. He stalked closer to the other male, towering over him by half a head and a dangerous glint in his eyes, but Tristan looked unfazed. "No matter who you are, I won't forgive you if you do anything to him."

"I make no threats," the male shrugged. "Simply predictions."

"Then take those f*cking predictions and shove them down your throat, Knight," he snapped. "Before I ram a tree down it instead."

Then he was gone, off to fulfill his part in the plan Tristan had laid out. The blue-haired male sighed and brushed the nonexistent dust off his uniform. He ran his hand down the smooth buttons of the blazer, savoring the texture of the flawless, cold metal devoid of any scratch, fingerprint, or stain.

Remind me why I'm doing all this, Tristan stifled the urge to sigh out loud as he made his way back to the student council room. Right, to get Kim in debt to me.

So why did the thought of him ultimately getting what he wants bother me so much?

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Morning came quickly and soon it was day five since the Game started, and with the sunrise came the news of more deaths. Three were the names of students she didn't recognize, all killed by a Number. But the rest...

Lucinda Summers, Number 7, the Star, killed by the Seeker. Charles Howards, the Seeker, killed. Elijah Johnson, the Cleaner, killed. May Fortuna smile kindly on the rest of you.

Jasper took her phone from her numb fingers to confirm their deaths; there they were, the fallen bodies of the blonde and Elijah, one in a pool of blood and the other in a slumberlike appearance.

Mr. Howards' body was nowhere to be seen.

She didn't seem to feel it as the navy blue-haired male pulled the slim device from her hands. Where she had gone into a shock at the notice of her close ones' deaths, going as far as a panic attack and everything felt surreal as if it was all happening in some alternate universe that didn't pertain to her, this time all she felt was the cold. The cold, hard, stony chill of the facts set before her on the glowing blue screen of her phone.

It no longer felt like the end of the world. It only felt like a few lines of small text on a small device that could be as easily crushed as her life. Aside from the sharp pang in her chest that faded as soon as it came, there were no tears, no breakdowns—nothing. She was getting used to these murders.

The greatest scare to a human being was arguably change. Change in one's surroundings, change in one's perception, or change in one's behavior and personality. (Y/n) didn't want things to change, didn't want herself to change. But she was.

And that was what terrified her the most.

She barely felt the gentle pressure on her shoulder as Isla leaned on the other girl, her face buried in her hands while she sobbed quietly. (Y/n) couldn't blame her; the purple-haired girl and Lucinda had been friends since birth, always stuck together at the hip yet suddenly and violently ripped apart. Not to mention the blonde's last words, a shocking confession that tore through their hearts.

"Again, there is no mention of how they died," Jasper frowned as he wiped the distraught expression off his face and forced his cracking voice to remain steady. Someone had to take charge of the situation. "M-Mr. Johnson and Lucinda have without a doubt...left for a happier place. But Mr. Howards, like Grayson, his body is missing. Either that means they're alive or their killers have something against them."

"So the two are connected somehow?" Keller rubbed his eyes and straightened his shirt. "If we find that connection we could find them?"

That caught (Y/n)'s attention. Reese could be alive? But that also meant Mr. Howards might as well be, and the thought of that psychopath walking freely through campus made part of her blood freeze and the other part boil. If he was alive, she didn't know what she would do. But whatever it was, it wouldn't be pretty.

"We should start wrapping up this Game," the violet-eyed male continued, clapping his hands together. "We eliminate the rest of the participants in a nonviolent way, and if the two are alive, the headmaster can find them. There are nine people left, four excluding us. One is Jason for sure, another is Ms. Florence whom we still haven't found, although I'm not sure about the other two."

"Two more?" Keller frowned. "There are?"

"Adding up all the eliminated players and subtracting them from the grand total of twenty-six, yes, there are nine left. Do the math, Keller."

"Math was never my strong suit. Summer Hall kid here, hello?"

"It's basic arithmetic. Or perhaps you're in the wrong school."

It was a weak attempt to lighten the mood, but it worked nonetheless. Isla wiped her eyes and cracked a smile. "You two argue like married idiots," she laughed teasingly. The two boys shared a guilty look and her smile faltered. "Wait...seriously?" Then her face lit up. "Seriously?! Why didn't you tell me—um, I mean, congrats you two!"

Fake smiles, tearstained cheeks, running mascara, and brittle knife points; the person who claimed girls were sugar and spice and everything nice was a liar. If Carrie was here she'd slap me, she laughed bitterly. She'd slap me hard and tell me to stop wallowing in my self-pity. And Lucinda would threaten to transform me into the next James Charles if I didn't end my pity party. But they're not here, and that's the problem.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom," Isla cleared her throat, hiding her face behind her hair. "Just to, you know, wash up."

"Want me to go with you?" (Y/n) offered quietly, only for the purple-haired girl to shake her head and crack a faint smile.

"I just need some alone time to think."

The group watched in sorrow as the girl offered them another smile and spun on her heels, leaving the classroom and taking the last remaining bit of air with her. Suddenly the room felt tense and suffocating; it was hard to breathe.

"I'll go with her," Keller stood up. "If Howards is alive, it's not safe for her to be walking alone."

Jasper nodded in agreement. "Yeah, that's a good idea. Come back quickly, 'kay?" The brown-haired male playfully saluted him with two fingers and then was off, disappearing out the door. Jasper followed his exit with his eyes until he was out of sight, and then he seemed to deflate with a worried look on his face.

(Y/n) had no words to cheer him up. She never did.

Mr. Brooks opened his eyes from where he was resting against the wall. "We need to start planning our next steps." His sharp voice cut through the tension like a knife. "Save the mourning for after we win. Now, what's this I hear about you having access to the cameras, Ms. White?"

The (h/c)-haired girl's eyes flickered to Jasper in surprise. The boy shrugged sheepishly. "I had to tell him."

She nodded in understanding and retrieved her phone from where it lied on the ground. She opened the applet and showed it to the black-haired teacher. "Winter Hall cameras are destroyed so we can't see anything there. The rest is fine though."

Mr. Brooks took the device from her, his slender fingers almost blending into the pale case. "There are four others left, correct?"

"Yeah...why?"

"I don't see the Winston kid anywhere," he frowned. He was referring to Jason. "Are you certain he's a player?"

"Keller said he's sure," Jasper said. "And I trust him."

Mr. Brooks studied the boy's face for a few seconds before returning his attention to the phone. "Fine. I recognize two of them; they're both students from my class, but I highly doubt they're anything more than a Number."

"But weren't the three Numbers killed today killed by a Number?" (Y/n) asked.

"Well, yes, but Numbers killing Numbers is nothing new. As a matter of fact, I believe I know exactly who that killer is."

This piqued Jasper's interest and he snapped to attention. "Who is it? Wait, don't tell me it's—"

"That is correct," the teacher nodded. "The same person manipulated by Charles to act out a series of murders along with the Taylor girl. I believe she's also the same person who killed Yvonne before this all started..."

"Neveah Agresta."

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"Oh, hey, Myers. Fancy meeting you here."

Isla stopped in her tracks at the mention of her name and turned around. It was a familiar redhead she despised, especially due to her b*tchy behavior and over competitiveness in their shared club, choir. The purple-haired girl's sorrow faded, replaced by repugnance.

"Neveah," she said. "What are you doing here?"

The redhead preened and shifted her weight from one foot to the other and placed a hand on her hip. "Am I not allowed to greet a friendly face? I've been quite distraught lately. You cannot imagine what's happened to my roots because of this." Her lips curled as she inspected a lock of her vermillion hair that was as infuriatingly perfect as ever.

"Some of us have bigger problems than your hair, Neveah," Isla scowled. "Whatever, I don't have time to waste on you. Find some other poor girl to pick on. Actually, don't do that. Go jump out a window."

Neveah's smile widened, but it was not a pretty sight. Something sinister was hiding behind those sparkling jewels of her eyes, something that's been hidden under her beautiful exterior all these years. Something that finally decided to show itself, making Isla take a step back. Her blue eyes instinctively flickered to the other girl's hands.

But they were empty, making her let out an inaudible sigh of relief.

"I'm not here for trouble, Myers," Neveah purred, her eyes dropping to her hands. The simple action of inspecting her nails almost made Isla stumble—it was too much like a certain person she knew, only that person was gone. If the redhead noticed the momentary change in the other girl's psychological state, she didn't show it.

She dropped her hands to her sides. "I'm here to make a deal. I hear Summers was eliminated, correct?"

Isla's face twisted in anger. "Don't ever utter her name, you b—"

"I said I'm not here for trouble. Unless you want to start some? I'm more than happy to oblige."

The purple-haired girl bit down her fury and forced herself to calm down. Neveah watched on with a satisfied smirk. "Good girl. As I was saying, I want a deal. I don't want to die. You don't want to die. So how about we work together and split the prize? I'm sure our wishes will be too different to counter each other, which is exactly why I came to you."

Isla scoffed and folded her arms. "I have enough allies as is, thank you very much. Why should I help you? I don't remember you ever being willing to work with me."

Neveah shrugged a delicate shoulder. "Drastic situations require drastic measures. And people change, do they not? You and I know that best."

"It's still a no."

The redhead sighed and brushed her hair over her shoulder. "Are you sure? I have a lot of cards gathered already. I doubt your ragtag band of 'allies' is doing better than I am."

Isla's eyes narrowed. "Did I stutter?"

Irritation passed over the other girl's face but she wiped it away quickly, replacing it with a sweet smile. "Fine. But don't come crying to me when things don't work out. I don't dfo second chances. Later~" With that, she was gone, sashaying down the hallway as if it was a catwalk and she was its model.

Isla despised that girl.

She sighed and pushed her bangs out of her face. With one simple interaction with the redhead, Isla felt like all her energy had been drained. This must be how (Y/n) feels on a daily basis, she thought dryly. Remind me to never tease her sleeping habits after this is all over. The memory of before brought a sharp pang in her heart.

Even when everything is over, nothing would be normal again. Their friend group wouldn't be normal again. She wouldn't be able to joke around with the girls anymore, especially with Carmen and her childhood best friend gone.

And Reese—Isla was never able to summon the courage and tell him how she really felt, was she? And all her talk about the red-haired male, it must've really hurt Lucinda who was supporting her like her best friend she was.

And now everything was too late.

The purple-haired girl blinked away the tears that threatened to spill out of her blue eyes and readjusted her headband. She clapped her hands on her face to compose herself. Everything will be okay. We'll find a way out. Jas is here too, and he always finds a way to fix things. He always has and always will. So we'll be fine.

She began making her way back to the classroom her friends were in, her mood slightly lifted from the thought. Stay optimistic, Isla! When life gives you lemons, throw them at people—

"Ow!" As she turned the corner, she suddenly bumped into something hard. Stumbling back, Isla cupped her nose, her eyes flaring with annoyance as she looked up, ready to yell at another wall that stood in her way.

Only it wasn't a wall. Isla's face lit up. "You—"

But a pair of hands around her neck choked the voice and life out of her, squeezing until she was nothing more than another corpse devoid of all life and light in its eyes.

Isla Myers, Number 1, the Moon, killed. May Fortuna smile kindly on the rest of you.