No instructions on who or what or why. No clarification on whose blood had to be spilled. Just that. The message had burned against her screen when it arrived, and she’d stared at it long enough to forget it was supposed to be a game.
Sarai hissed as she entered the room finally after the disaster of a dinner, breath catching as the sharp pain in her heel flared again. She limped to the edge of the bed and sat down heavily, peeling off her shoe with a wince. Blood smeared the sole—crimson against white leather, like the end of a ballet she hadn’t meant to dance. Moonlight cut through the window, silvering the room in quiet, casting shadows long enough to swallow the parts of her still trembling.
She had only just sent the confirmation text before returning here to breathe, to clean up, to prepare for meeting Milo and Karuna. But Yasiel’s voice still rang in her ears like the leftover strain of a performance. So if I picked anyone other than her, would you still have cared this much? Come to my room to confront me?
Sarai had given an answer. She wasn’t sure it had been the truth. Because she had cared. Far too much. And she hadn’t known why.
Not until that night in the entertainment room. Karuna had been there first—cue in hand, focused, lips pursed in quiet determination as she lined up her next shot. Sarai had meant to head to the kitchen, find a private place to complete her task, to be done with it. But the sound of the cue ball striking, the rhythm of clack and breath and pause—it called to her. And then Karuna, half-smiling, half-challenging, inviting her in.
Do you want an actual game?
That was how it started.
She’d set her glass down on the edge of the table without thinking, caught somewhere between banter and a challenge. They played like rivals and moved like dancers—circling each other, trading glances as sharp as their aim. And for a breathless moment, Sarai forgot about the game within the game. Forgot about objectives and blood. Forgot about the glass she’d set down beside them.
Because something strange was happening—something quiet. Something warm. When was the last time she’d had anything like this? Something so mundane as pool, something that didn’t ask for applause or blood or perfection. Maybe with Alexie or Mauve . Maybe not even then. She’d thought she was above craving simplicity, but in that moment, she wanted it so badly it made her ache. A quiet life. A warm one. One where she could forget the weight of performance and just be.
Karuna's voice had curled around her, low and deliberate:
Do one more, Sarai. With a twist. Bank the nine ball.
Sarai had smiled, even blushed. Took the shot. The nine ball dropped into the pocket with a satisfying thunk—clean. And then the tumbler tipped. Glass shattered across the floor like punctuation. A beat later, her bare foot came down on it.
The pain had snapped her back to reality, a flash of red and sharpness. Her objective completed—perhaps accidentally, perhaps not. She wasn’t even sure anymore. That was the thing about the Trials. Truth tangled with strategy. Emotion with performance. Even the cleanest choices had blood on them somewhere.
Cassiel’s voice whispered in her memory:
You're saying you have the stomach for all this blood, then?
She’d said yes. A lie. She didn’t have the stomach for blood. Not really. But when asked if she would kill to protect her secret, she had agreed without hesitation. Another lie. Because she didn’t care about hiding it. Not if the truth meant freedom. Not if the truth was her way out.
But she would kill for something else. For someone else.
Bella. The girl who still saw light in this godless game.
You say that like this is normal. Like finding a body is just part of the weekend itinerary.
Sarai would shield her from the ugliness of this place. Nico.
Maybe I need to be cruel.
She would be strong enough for both of them. Milo. Mazen. Yasiel that seemed to see right through her. Even if they hadn't figured out the name behind her mask. All the pieces of this twisted symphony and red thread lines that had begun to mean something to her—more than they should.
And Karuna.
It all depends on you.
Sarai’s lips curved at the memory. She hadn’t meant to fall into whatever it was , how could she? When her lies couldn't be deciphered from her truths. But here she was. Bleeding for it.
She cleaned the wound slowly, rewrapping the bandage with steady fingers. The cut had already begun to clot, the sting fading into something duller. More manageable. But the choice—that remained sharp. She’d played their game, followed the rules just enough to survive. But from here on out, she'd do it her way.
To protect what mattered—to protect them—she’d stain her hands red without flinching.
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