The house creaks around you. Every floorboard groan, every draft through the cracked windows makes the silence heavier than the warm glow of the dim lights. Outside, wind rattles the shutters, sending icy fingers up the spine of anyone standing too long near a window.

You’re in the sitting room, nestled near the fire, trying to pretend you’re calm. The others are scattered around the house: some in the lounge, some in the kitchen, some hovering near doorways, always on edge. Four of them, you’ve been told, are on your side. The other four… are not.

Joshua sits near you, angled just enough to be casual, face soft and easy. He’s whispering something about a trivial memory you share—something funny from when you first met—and you laugh softly, the sound almost shocking in the oppressive quiet of the house.

“Remember when you—” he begins, but you cut him off with a smile.

“Yes, I remember,” you murmur, letting your fingers brush his lightly. His eyes glint in the firelight, warm, innocent… yet there’s something in the way he’s watching, a quiet patience, that makes your stomach twist without reason.

Across the room, one of the others—Clara, you think—whispers something to Marcus. Their eyes dart toward the fireplace. You catch fragments: “He’s acting… too calm,” and “It doesn’t make sense.” You nod along silently, though you can’t be sure if they’re referring to Joshua or someone else.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Sophie is flipping through a stack of papers, trying not to show that her hands are trembling. She glances toward the hallway. “Someone moved,” she murmurs. Her voice catches, but no one else reacts—except perhaps Damian, who gives her the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.

Joshua tilts his head, still talking softly to you, completely oblivious to—or perfectly aware of—the paranoia simmering in the room. “I love it when it’s quiet like this,” he says, voice calm, steady, warm. “It makes everything feel… safe.”

A shiver runs through you, and you nod without answering. Something about the casual tone makes the pit in your stomach clench.

In the corner, Evelyn murmurs to herself, “Why is everyone pretending? Why does it feel like we’re already trapped?” She glances at you for a split second, then quickly looks away, as if afraid someone else heard.

You glance around: eight people. Four are good. Four are evil. You know Joshua is close to you, but… do you really know him?

From across the hall, a crash. Someone dropped a chair. No one moves to investigate immediately.

Joshua’s hand brushes yours again. “Are you cold?” he asks innocently. “I can get you a blanket.”