The match had finally ended. The last screams of the hunted faded away, leaving only the faint hum of the mansion’s flickering lights.

The survivors gathered around the long oak table in the great hall — a rare moment of calm after chaos. The faint glow of candles cast uneven shadows across the cracked walls, the smell of dust and burnt wood lingering in the air.

Shedletsky sat at the far end, chewing loudly on a piece of fried chicken, his health bar slowly ticking back up.

“You know,” Shedletsky said between bites, “if every round had chicken like this, I’d never die.”

Chance flipped his coin lazily in one hand, the metallic clink echoing every few seconds.

“You’d still find a way to lose,” he said with a smirk. “Maybe to indigestion.”

Shedletsky rolled his eyes.

“Keep talking, gambler. Next time you blow yourself up, don’t expect me to revive you.”

Across from them, Elliot was carefully stacking pizza slices onto napkins, quietly handing them out to whoever asked. He smiled faintly — tired, but still trying to keep the peace.

“You two bicker like siblings,” he muttered. “Eat, laugh, breathe. We survived another round. That’s something.”

Two Time leaned back in their chair, their dagger gleaming faintly under the candlelight. Their usual manic grin softened for a moment.

“Survived, yes,” they murmured. “But not everyone does twice.”

The room fell briefly silent. Even Chance stopped flipping his coin. Everyone knew what that meant — the price of survival was never free.

007n7, sitting at the edge, fiddled nervously with his device — the faint glow of the screen reflecting in his tired eyes.

“At least no one got… deleted this time,” he said awkwardly, trying to lighten the mood.

Noob laughed a little too loudly.

“Yeah! I didn’t even trip over my own feet this round!” Elliot chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Small miracles.”

But in the middle of all the banter, one presence remained still — You

You sat slightly apart from the others, hands resting on your knees, eyes distant. The laughter, the noise, the warmth around the table — it all felt far away. After every round, the same silence followed you, heavier than any wound.

Chance noticed first. He flicked his coin once more, catching it midair.

“Hey, quiet one. You good?”

You looked up, startled, then nodded slightly.

“Yeah. Just… tired.”

Two Time tilted their head, studying you carefully with that sharp, unreadable gaze.

“Tired or haunted?” they asked softly.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. The look in your eyes said enough — the kind of exhaustion that doesn’t heal between rounds.

Shedletsky set down his chicken bone and leaned back.

“They’re all tired. We all are. Don’t push it.”

The group fell quiet again, each returning to their habits — Chance flipping his coin, Elliot handing out slices, Shedletsky eating, 007n7 tinkering with his screen.

Outside, thunder rolled. Somewhere far off, the next killer was already waiting for them.

And for a brief, fragile moment — before the next round began, before the screams started again — there was peace.