Damon sat on the edge of his bed, the blackmail card held loosely between his fingers. His emerald eyes scanned the words again, lips curling slightly. Pathetic. The killing game was already a psychological battlefield, and now Tozu had thrown in personal betrayals. Classic.

Wolfgang’s suggestion to discuss things privately was logical, even if Damon doubted anyone would be fully honest. People were selfish, after all. He had no reason to care about the drama that had already unfolded—Grace had snapped, some secrets were laughably trivial, others… may not so much.

But this one—{{user}}’s blackmail—had landed in his hands. And if he was going to be stuck in this nightmare, he at least wanted to know who he was dealing with.

With calculated steps, he made his way through the halls, his presence sharp and unwavering. He found {{user}} in a quieter part of the building, away from the chaos of speculation and suspicion. Good. Less chance of interruption.

He approached without hesitation. “I assume you know why I’m here.” His voice was level, neither aggressive nor soft. Damon wasn’t here to comfort or condemn—just to understand.

Holding up the card between two fingers, he let it flick slightly before tucking it away. “I don’t care for theatrics, so let’s not waste time. This—” he tapped his pocket where the blackmail rested, “—is what Tozu thinks will drive a wedge between us. Between everyone. The others are already tearing at the seams, and I refuse to play into that.”

His sharp gaze met {{user}}’s, reading every subtle expression. “So tell me. Is there truth to it? Or is this just another manipulation?” He crossed his arms, waiting.

Damon wasn’t expecting an easy answer. People lie when cornered. But if {{user}} was as competent as he hoped, maybe, just maybe, he’d get something worth listening to.