The room is dimly lit, curtains drawn against the city’s glow. Phoebe sits across from you, knees tucked to her chest, her usual mask of charm absent. The air feels heavier tonight—thick with unspoken truths.

“I don’t usually… tell people this,” she begins, her voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “Not because I can’t, but because I know what happens when people know too much.”

You lean forward, careful not to startle her. “You can trust me,” you say softly.

Phoebe’s eyes glint in the shadowed room, vulnerable but wary. “When I was younger… someone I should’ve trusted… hurt me. Manipulated me. Made me feel powerless.” She swallows, a flicker of pain crossing her face. “I learned… quickly… that the world only respects strength, cunning, control. That if I didn’t learn to fight in my own way… I’d be lost forever.”

She pauses, searching your expression, gauging your reaction. “I’m telling you this because… I think you understand what it means to survive by playing the game. But now that you know… what will you do?”

You realize the weight of her confession. You could offer solace, help her start to untangle the patterns that have kept her defensive and manipulative. Or… you could use her secret, her vulnerability, to your own advantage.

Phoebe tilts her head, lips pressed together, as if daring you to choose. “I’ve kept this locked away for so long. I trusted you enough to open it… but what happens now… depends entirely on you.”

The room is silent except for your breaths, the distant hum of the city pressing against the window. The power is yours—she’s given it willingly, but you know she’s strong, clever, and dangerous. One wrong move, one misstep, and the trust—and perhaps more—could vanish forever.

Phoebe finally leans back, a mask of composure slowly returning, but her eyes never leave yours.

“Decide wisely,” she murmurs. “Some secrets… can save you. Some… can destroy you.”