Beguile

45 The Lie

I stared at the band around my wrist, the names etched into it like a grim tally of those lost and those clinging to life.

The greyed-out names felt like ghosts, reminders of how many had already fallen. While the few names still illuminated in bright blue stood out, a small, dwindling list of those who remained alive. Besides us, there were so few left that I could count them on one hand.

The thought gnawed at me. Why not just call a truce? Why continue the fighting when so much had already been lost? When I asked Lucas about it, hoping for some insight or even a flicker of doubt, he only smiled that cold, empty smile of his and said, "It won't be fun like that."

His words echoed in my mind, unsettling and yet so typical of him. But beneath the surface, fear took root and began to grow, gnawing at my heart. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was bound to go wrong. The uncertainty of it all weighed on me—what if the rules were unclear? Would those who managed to survive the next four months truly be allowed to live? Or was this game rigged to let only one person survive?

After all, this was about perfection, wasn't it? And to achieve that, you had to step on others, to climb over the bodies of the fallen without hesitation.

When night came, they declared the boys' dormitory pest-free.

The term didn't quite bring the relief I'd hoped for. The rats had grown bolder, feasting on the remains of the dead until even the bones were barely salvageable. But the announcement wasn't about eradicating the vermin; it was about the absence of enemies, a temporary reprieve from the constant vigilance we'd been forced to maintain.

With the threat seemingly gone, they began gathering mattresses from each room, searching for the cleanest ones to arrange in a single space, as if we were preparing for some twisted sleepover. They even went so far as to scent the room, masking the pervasive odor of blood and decay with something floral.

Despite their efforts, I knew that scent wouldn't bring me any comfort tonight.

I lay between Lucas and Kay, with Rie beside Kay, and Elle further along, whispering in her sleep as she clutched her gun.

The room was crowded, and I could barely move, especially with my ankle throbbing and tightly wrapped. The only solace I found was in the sliver of moonlight filtering through the window, casting shadows on the wall. I focused on it, trying to discern the faces that the craters formed, letting my mind drift away from the discomfort.

I was nearly drifting off when I felt something cold brush against my leg. Lucas's hand, or at least it felt like his—his fingers trailing lightly along my skin.

My eyes shot open, and I glanced at him, but his eyes were still closed, his face calm and undisturbed. Perhaps it was just my imagination,

I shifted carefully onto my side, mindful of my broken ankle, turning my back to him in an attempt to ignore. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing sleep to come, but as the minutes ticked by, I felt Lucas drawing closer, his breath warm against the back of my neck, his nose nuzzling into my hair.

His hand began to trace a path along my arm. It was too intentional to dismiss this time. Panic started to creep in, and I had to fight to keep my breathing steady. This couldn't be happening, not here, not now—not with everyone around us, with Elle so close by. The very thought sent fear coursing through me.

I grabbed his hand, gripping it tightly to make him stop. His fingers stilled against my arm, and for a moment, I thought he might pull away. But instead, he nuzzled his face into the crook of my neck.

"No?"

"No," I whispered back.

Lucas didn't move away. Instead, he shifted slightly, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below my ear. "Hmmm.."