━━━━༻ ♥ ༺━━━━ black hat 00100000 ━━━━༻ ♥ ༺━━━━

Where is she? Keller wove through winding hallways and through opened and closed doors in search of the purple-haired girl, his worry growing with each passing second. He had gone to the nearest bathroom and even mustered the courage to go inside after Isla didn't respond to his calls. The bathroom was empty, and the girl wasn't anywhere near there.

The boy raked his hand through his hair in frustration. He could only hope the girl had run away in search of safety or simply got lost instead of what the darkest part of his mind was thinking. He shook his head to free himself of the sinister thoughts. Keller wasn't one for superstition, but thinking that way gave him a bad feeling as if he might actually jinx her by accident.

He pulled open a closet door. "Hello?" He called. "Myers?" His only answer was the sound of a broom falling over when he opened the door and jostled it. He tried again with another closed door. "Myers?" Again, nothing. Nothing at all.

Where could she possibly be? The brown-haired boy reached into his pocket for his phone until he realized he left it with Jasper. He sighed and paced around the hallway deep in thought. Should I go back now or keep looking? I hope she's just lost and not killed by Mr. Howards if that bastard's still alive. If he is, I gotta get outta here too.

He tapped his foot against the ground before making up his mind. Better to regroup first and tell them about it. Then we could come up with a plan or something. Reluctantly, Keller cast one last look at the bathroom before turning around and heading back to the hallway where he'd come from.

The light from the windows flanking his right cast writhing shadows on the walls and floors, shapes of tree branches and the occasional silhouette of avians in mid-flight. Perhaps it was the lighting or his mind playing tricks on him, but that shadows seemed more disquieting than ever. It was as if they were taloned creatures reaching for him, threatening to drag him deeper and deeper in the endless cycle of deaths and paranoia that was Fortuna Institute's Game.

Or maybe it was just him not being used to a Hall other than Summer Hall. He had spent the majority of his school life in Summer Hall, after all, with the occasional visit to Autumn. Keller shrugged the foreboding feeling off. It must be nothing.

But then again, after years of pulling Nicholas and Jason out of trouble, with the former's antics and the latter's sharp tongue, Keller has learned to trust his gut feeling. It has never betrayed him and this time, his gut was telling him he was in serious danger. He had to get out of there. And out of there he went, increasing his pace to a speed walk.

Unbeknownst to the brown-haired athlete, his discomforting feeling was on point.

He wasn't alone.

Behind him, a tall male too well-dressed and indifferent for someone who's been in the Game for five days was tailing him. He didn't bother to hide but keep his steps quiet and his presence low as he stayed a few paces behind the athlete. From an outsider's perspective, the scene might've been innocent. Just two students heading in the same direction.

But the silver glint in his hand said otherwise. No student had good intentions if they brought a gun to school.

Fortunately for his pursuer and unfortunately for the other male, Keller didn't seem to notice the new presence at first. He even glanced behind him a few times to check out his surroundings. With each look and each fail at discovering anyone following him, Keller began to drop his guard, little by little.

That was a fatal mistake and one that would lead to his downfall.

His stalker spun the gun in his hands by the trigger, his strides even and smooth as if he was doing nothing more than taking a leisurely walk. He ran a finger down the side of the barrel. He said to make it flashy, the male mused with a slight quirk of his lips into a smirk. I don't usually listen to that prick but I have to admit, he knows what he's doing.

And without bothering to muffle the gun, the white-haired male leveled the weapon at his target. With a series of unhesitating clicks, he sent rounds after rounds of explosive gunfire Keller's way.

The bullets found their way into his arms, back, shoulder, and heart. Keller barely registered the pain and impact, until he found himself falling and unable to control his body.

Then everything went dark.

AUTUMN:HALL ━━━━━༻ ❀ ༺━━━━━ ℓαtєя

"So tell me, what do you have on my father?"

Silence painted the room unnaturally in shades of slumber and ghostly calm, like a poison that seeped into the walls of the quarters. It was a room bereft of the warmth that used to be there when it was once filled with the quiet hum of idle conversation from resting students. Now there was only silence and the ticking of the clock, unnatural like dawn devoid of birdsong. Now there were only two.

The room's sole inhabitant lowered her steaming mug of tea back onto its saucer, her spring green eyes lowering and a sigh escaped her lips, the emptiness of the room stealing both her breath and her life from her. She'd been expecting this, and for a while now.

Mrs. Richards looked up. "Come in," she said pleasantly. "And do close the door behind you...sir."

Tristan entered the commons room and after securing the lock on the door, he took a seat in the armchair facing the elderly woman. He crossed his legs—one over the other—and folded his hands in his lap. "Speak," he issued like a command with no regard for the other party's age. "Tell me what I want to know."

"Will it be what you wish to hear or what you do not want to hear?" The woman stood up, disappearing behind a wall before returning with a new cup of tea. She placed it down on the coffee table and pushed it towards him. "Do you care for some tea?"

"I'm alright, thank you," Tristan respectfully declined.

Mrs. Richards sighed and settled into a more comfortable position in the armchair. "Alright. What do you need?"

"You've been watching these Games for a while now, five of them to be exact. I have an inkling as to why Father forced you to watch it every year, but I want to hear it from your mouth"—the blue-haired male's eyes narrowed—"Are you not the mother of one of his mistresses?"

The elderly woman's gentle expression faltered for a second, pain passing over her face like a chilling gust of wind. "Y-yes," she said quietly. "She was my daughter."

Tristan looked unaffected. "And how long has she been in a relationship with my father? On a second thought, how long has she been forced into a relationship with my father? She rejected him, didn't she?"

Mrs. Richards nodded slowly in confirmation. "They met in college, which you already know. Even though my sweet daughter was already dating someone, her beau from high school, your father..."

"I am not my father's ally. You do not need to hold back your words."

"W-well, yes, your father, he didn't take rejection too kindly. He finally gave up after she passed away from cancer, something she's been battling all her life. But he began to blame me for her rejecting him." Tears welled up in her pale green eyes as she daintily dabbed them with a handkerchief. "My sweet daughter...she was taken away too soon."

Tristan laughed humorlessly. "Father's always been paranoid. Forcing you to watch the Games over a simple rejection?"

"He did blame me for her death," she sighed. "I don't blame him. If only I saw the signs sooner, perhaps she wouldn't have progressed to such a late stage that there was no saving her—oh!" New tears rose to the surface, threatening to spill down her cheeks.

The blue-haired male looked away respectfully. After a moment of silence interrupted by the woman's sobbing, he cleared his throat. "And your daughter's name was...?"

Mrs. Richards wiped the last of her tears from her face. "Her name was Paisley," she said softly with affection laced into her voice. "Paisley Richards."

The male's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Paisley, you say?" Mrs. Richards looked up in confusion. "Are you aware your daughter had a child?"

"Why yes, I did. She married Aaron, did she not? A lovely man, although I've lost contact with him over the years."

Fortuna is quite cruel to this family. He fought down the urge to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. We have more in common than you think, (Y/n).

"Very well," he said, rising to his feet. "Thank you for your time. Do enjoy your drink."

"I'm happy to be of assistance," the elderly woman murmured, watching as the male left his tea untouched on the table and left the room, the door closing with a silently click behind him. The room felt more suffocating than ever as she processed his vague words in her head.

Then something seemed to come together. Could it be...? But right after that realization, her gaze turned sorrowful. But it's too late for me anyway, too late for me to finally greet my granddaughter.

The amber drink of her tea winked up at her, taunting her with its herbal aroma even as her fingers began to turn numb and her vision blur. The world began to spin before her eyes as an indescribable pain erupted in her chest as if someone was stabbing her heart with a thousand tiny pins.

But even as the woman slumped over in her seat, she was smiling.

Her daughter's memory would still live on. That's all that mattered.

SPRING:HALL ━━━━━༻ ❀ ༺━━━━━ ℓαtєя

If (Y/n) had to describe Jasper's reaction at the words that flickered onto the screen of his phone as the three inspected the camera footages—well, she couldn't. First he laughed humorlessly, short and broken sounds of denial. Then he sobered, the light that had blinked to life in his eyes because of Keller going out also because of him.

Jasper's rage was a cold, silent one, not furious and ostentatious like Carmen and Isla. True rage was fire, burning hot and dying face. That was an inferno of cold ashes and cooling water afterward for both his mind and soul. But this anger was a different one, it was a frozen fury that burned cold. For his friends, it would burn warm like his heart but for the killer...

It was cold. It was an endless valley of minuscule claws that dug into every limb and skin it comes into contact with. Be miserable, his eyes seemed to say. Be schooled by the ice for you'll never taste the flame.

Her own sorrow forgotten, (Y/n) could only feel overwhelming concern for the violet-eyed male. There was a look in his eyes that—she hated to say this—resembled the gleam she'd seen in Mr. Howards' eyes. It wasn't a pleasant look on him; it was one that made her blood run cold and her eyes instinctively drop to the ground.

Mr. Brooks seemed to notice the change as she did and his solemn expression turned alarmed. "Reynolds, calm down," he said. "We'll find a way to fix all this—"

"This is no fixing this!" Jasper snarled, making the (h/c)-haired girl flinch. Guilt flickered over his face at the movement and he continued with a softer tone. "Don't ask me to calm down, Mr. Brooks. The past few days we've been doing what, sitting around? The most we've ever done is by (Y/n), and she's the laziest one of us all. So don't ask me to be calm. I have no time to calm down when that murderer killed the only person I ever loved!"

"I completely understand your feelings, but we can't be rash," the black-haired male tried again. "It was no explicitly stated who killed him, so it's probably not Charles. Whoever they are, they're probably the ones who killed Elijah and the others."

"Just Elijah," (Y/n) interrupted. Her fingers turned white as they pressed tighter on her phone screen. "W-we don't know if Reese is dead."

Mr. Brooks nodded grimly, his lips tight. "Yes, of course. He could be." But his tone wasn't very reassuring. He didn't sound like he believed her.

She almost didn't believe herself either.

Jasper looked down at his opened hands, curling and uncurling them. His breaths steadied and he seemed to calm down. "And so?" He finally said. "What's the plan?"

Visible relief passed over the teacher's face before it disappeared. "First we find Alice. Then we separate the last Number from the Agresta girl. She's a killer; I doubt we'd be able to talk any sense into her."

"And then?" Jasper prompted coldly.

"We group our cards and hints. One of them or all of them collectively should lead us to the last cards. Five years ago it was the Emperor. Two years before that was the Wheel of Fortune. I'm not sure what this year's could be."

The blue-haired male relented and shoved his phone into his pocket. "Fine. We'll do that. (Y/n), the cameras?"

"O-oh, right. Here." She handed her phone over.

"Summer Hall it is," Mr. Brooks declared. "We'll start tomorrow. It's getting late." He rose to his feet. "Have you two eaten yet?" The two shared a look and shook their heads. "There should be a snack down the hall. I'll run there and grab something."

Don't ask why their school had a snack bar on top of a cafeteria. "Thanks, sir," (Y/n) called as the man checked his watch and slid a sheathed knife into his back pocket. "A-and be careful." She caught herself before her voice broke. She didn't know who was more pitiful; them for having lost their closest friends or Mr. Brooks who had to take care of two children and their sob fest.

She didn't even have the heart to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. She could whisper a thousand words of rage and sorrow and cry a million tears, but nothing would bring them back. It was like the time she sat by her mother's death bed, grief punching a hole in her chest and taking over her, holding onto her soul and threatening to kill her altogether. It's like constant tears, only ones you can't wipe away.

(Y/n) didn't bother to offer her companion any words of comfort—she couldn't anyway even if she tried. She mutely made her way to the couch in the corner of the room flanked with little bookshelves, the place she's been sleeping ever since their group took refuge here. Corners were calming. Corners were what grounded her and kept her head over the water. At least, at this moment.

The girl stopped composing the desolate poetry of despair and the specter of the "prestigious" school under a web of blood and loss, instead choosing to curl up and let her eyes fall shut. It was a process she was the most familiar with, almost more so than breathing itself, but sleep did not come immediately with her closed eyes as it had every other time. The bittersweet memories and weight of reality were crushing her, forcing her awake, and keeping her mind in a cruel state of clarity interrupted by nothing but the clenching of her chest.

Her eyes drifted open again after another failed attempt at slumber. Her (e/c) orbs trailed over the room before landing on the only other inhabitant. Jasper's body was tense as he sat straight up in a chair, his expression unreadable as he turned a stiletto over in his hands. His mood seemed to hang over him like a dark cloud before it shifted into a wisp of a cloak that laid on his skin like robes.

Jasper Reynolds wasn't one for false pretenses and deceiving masks. And as insensitive as she was, (Y/n) was good at spotting these kinds of changes. For the most part, at least. And a small voice in the corner of her mind told her he was going to do something rash. Normally she wouldn't have paid that voice any mind; Jasper never did things without thinking it through, but nothing was normal now.

"Uh, Jas?" She spoke up timidly. The male made a humming sound to indicate he heard her but didn't lookup. "Is that what you traded your card in for?"

He ran his finger down the flat of the blade and inspected the sharp edge with a curious expression. He said, "Yeah, they caught my attention." Then he was quiet again.

"What's it called?"

"A stiletto."

"Isn't that one of those shoes L-Lucy likes to wear?"

The male's amethyst eyes flickered to hers for a brief second and cracked a small smile. "Same name but different things, (Y/n). I'm surprised you remembered."

She scowled. "Why does everyone keep saying that? I have a great memory."

"You forgot what you ate for breakfast yesterday."

"Well ha, I didn't eat breakfast yesterday so the joke's on you." She paused. "I think."

"That just proves my point. Anyway, get some rest. You'll need it tomorrow."

If I can manage to fall asleep, I'd be more than happy to. The (h/c)-haired girl flopped back onto the cough, slightly bouncing up at the impact. "I'll try..."

But the next day, Jasper was nowhere to be found, leaving behind nothing but a few words penned in elegant cursive on a post-it note on the table. He'd gone off to find the killer himself, even taking (Y/n)'s gun and Mr. Brooks' knife with him.

It was both their greatest fears come true.

AUTUMN:HALL ━━━━━༻ ❀ ༺━━━━━ мєαηωнιℓє

If there was one thing Jaehyun hated the most, it was Tristan's eyes. They weren't quite blue, more of a silvery kind. Rather than them being icy like the nickname the blue-haired male was given, they were like the underside of a dead fish in the blond's eyes. Pretty but grotesque at the same time. There was no light in them. No warm, no emotion, and almost no color. Nothing at all. As an artist who enjoyed finding aesthetic pleasure in the things he sees, he despised laying his eyes on the male.

Countless fantasies of ripping the eyes of the person sitting before him ran through his mind, but he shoved them down, curling his hands into fists on his knees. His hands clenched so tight his nails dug into his palms and drew blood, leaving behind little red half-moons. But he didn't feel the pain. He wanted to laugh at the irony of the situation. The one who can't feel pain isn't me.

He looked up; it was clear the blue-haired male wasn't going to be the first to speak anytime soon. "How did it go?" He asked in a biting tone. "Any success?"

Tristan finally moved from his statuelike position, his legs uncrossing and his cold eyes flickering to the shorter male. "A bit of information here and there," he sighed. "Essential material I could use to per se sway my father..."

"You mean blackmail him?" Jaehyun deadpanned.

The other male's eyes twitched subtly and his face tensed. "I'd prefer to not use such a vulgar word, but I suppose, yes, the motive is just that. My father is rather keen on perfection and having an unblemished reputation. He would kill anyone who could reveal any of his dirty secrets."

Jaehyun frowned. "Even his sons?"

"Even his sons. Of course, I am no exception. Which is why it's crucial I do all this without him knowing, and the Game is the perfect setting to do so."

The blond sighed and rolled his eyes. "I knew you'd only help me if there was something to gain from it," he muttered, although there was only mild irritation and no anger in his words. "Then, what are you going to do when you remove him from his position? Send him to retirement?"

A small smirk spread on Tristan's lips. It was a calculating look and one of self-satisfaction. "I believe an insane asylum wouldn't be too bad. But I begin to think it's easier to just push his death date up. What do you think?"

"I think you're insane."

"That makes two of us, Kim. There is a fine line between ambition and obsession, and it's a threshold I'm willing to cross. And you?"—he nodded towards the boy—"What's the real reason you're going this far? You'd normally rather mess up my plans than partake in them."

Just for a moment, the golden-haired boy's eyes lost focus as they seemed to stare at something only he could see, far, far away. "Same reason as last time," he hummed, his vermillion orbs sharpening back to clarity. He smiled a close-eyed smile at the other male, the sight both innocent and unnerving.

"She's important to me. And that makes her mine."

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A/N: Here's a really cute fanart from HiddenBegonia. Thanks so much!