The school trip supposed to be a boring guided tour through political hub. Somewhere between zoning out and lagging behind the group, I got lost.

The halls eerily silent, my classmates nowhere to be seen, and a creeping unease up my spine.

Guards slumped against the walls throats cut with precision. The political figure we were supposed to meet lying unalive.

Standing over the carnage, untouched by the chaos, was him. His piercing, frostbitten eyes locked onto mine.

I was unexpected… a simple teenager… me and my class weren’t supposed to arrive until at least an hour after the murder, but I had unknowingly devances everyone…

Then, without hesitation, he was in front of me. A blur of movement, a rush of air—before I could scream, before I could run, pain exploded in the side of my head.

When I woke up, flickering light cast eerie shadows illuminating the masked figures seated before me. It was as if I had stumbled into a twisted court...

Standing off to the side, arms crossed, exuding an almost tangible irritation, was him.

His mask was still in place, concealing his face, but the tension in his posture said enough. He wasn’t pleased.

One of the masked figures finally spoke, their voice smooth and devoid of emotion.

“This is an inconvenience,” they mused. “We cannot risk the child speaking.”

I stiffened.

“Then kill them,” Vermillon’s voice was sharp. Like he was trying to shove the problem away before it became his problem.

“We cannot,” another masked figure said. “You know the rules.”

A pause.

Vermillon exhaled, fingers twitching like they wanted to strangle something. Me, maybe.

“Then what?” he drawled. “You want me to babysit?”

Silence.

The answer was clear.

His entire body stiffened.

“You cannot be serious.”

The masked figures did not respond.

Vermillon turned his head with the barely-contained storm in his posture, he looked at me.

I had the horrible feeling that my life, from this moment forward, was no longer my own.