Cheese

The Oblivis rattled beneath us, its enchanted path thrumming through the wooden floor. The tension had settled into something unspoken yet heavy—a quiet understanding: no one could be trusted. Groups huddled in corners, whispering strategies, paranoia thick in the air.

Dante, ever the opportunist, made his move.

"So," he drawled, settling onto a crate across from me, Hal, and Love LeFaye. She was quiet but observant, green eyes scanning the room while pretending not to listen too closely. She came to help up Hal and nurse him after the encounter with Sera.

Dante leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. "Let's set some traps."

I raised a brow. "Traps?"

He smirked. "Everyone's scrambling to find this so-called Shaman, but what's the easiest way to catch a rat?"

"Lure it out," Hal answered, rubbing his throat absentmindedly.

"Exactly." Dante snapped his fingers. "We plant false leads, little whispers of 'evidence' placed in the right ears. The real rat will slip up trying to manage the rumors."

Love tilted her head. "And if the Shaman is smart enough to stay quiet?"

Dante's grin widened. "Then we make the pot boil over."

He drifted between groups, tossing casual comments, letting "accidental" remarks slip at just the right moments. A scuff on someone's boots, a twitch at the mention of magic—tiny details twisted into suspicion. The room was already primed for paranoia; Dante just poured fuel on the fire.

It didn't take long for the first spark to catch.

"You're lying."

A sharp voice cut through the murmurs. Across the carriage, a burly teen shoved a wiry boy against a stack of crates.

"I saw you talking to him," the burly one growled. "What did he tell you?"

The accused stammered, glancing wildly around for support. "N-Nothing, I swear! I was just—"

A fist drove into his gut, doubling him over. The carriage lurched as the weight shifted, and just like that, the fragile tension shattered.

Fights erupted in clusters. People lashed out, accusations flying as fast as fists. Some were fueled by genuine suspicion, others by an excuse to assert dominance. The Oblivis groaned under the chaos.

Dante remained seated, watching it unfold with a satisfied smile. "Ah, humans. So predictable."

I clenched my fists, resisting the urge to intervene. "And where does this plan of yours lead?"

Dante leaned back, stretching. "Oh, don't worry. You have a special role in all of this."

Before I could press him for details, someone shouted from across the carriage.

"I heard it was him!"

Heads turned. My stomach dropped.

Dante smirked.

The accusations were aimed at me.

"What the hell?" I muttered under my breath.

Hal and Love looked just as blindsided. Dante, however, looked like a man watching a plan unfold exactly as intended.

"You… you set me up," I hissed.

Dante merely shrugged. "Not set up—positioned. There's a difference."

"Explain. Now."

He exhaled dramatically. "The Shaman will stay hidden unless they think they're in control. So we give them a target—someone weak, someone vulnerable, someone isolated." He patted my shoulder like an old friend. "And that, my dear Kach, is where you come in."

I stared at him. Then at the others. Hal looked alarmed. Love's expression darkened.

The room buzzed with murmurs, eyes flicking toward me, whispers growing louder. Someone had taken the bait.

The Shaman was watching.

Dante grinned.

And just like that, the game had begun.

A slow ripple moved through the crowd, murmurs blending into each other, some hushed, others pointed. Suspicion took root. I could feel it, the way eyes lingered on me a little too long, the way people shifted slightly, as if reevaluating their distance from him.

Then, the first voice cut through the noise.

"That makes sense."

A girl—tall, lean, with cropped black hair and a scar along her jaw. Her voice carried an air of certainty, her sharp eyes locked onto me with unsettling confidence. "He's been quiet. Watching. Letting others do the work. It's always the ones who don't speak up, don't push too hard, that slip through."

The energy in the carriage changed. There it was—the first spark.

Another voice rose up, louder, more forceful. "No, it's too convenient."

A wiry boy with sunken cheeks and restless hands. Unlike the girl, his posture wasn't controlled—he leaned forward too much, his fingers twitched at his sides. "This is just an excuse. Dante says some words, and suddenly, we're all supposed to go along with it?" He shook his head, laughing under his breath. "Nah. If anything, that's the kind of trick a Shaman would pull. Point fingers first, let everyone tear each other apart while they sit back and watch."

There.

The two reactions Dante had been looking for.

I stayed quiet, letting it unfold, playing the role. The more I denied, the more they would doubt, but if I said nothing—if I let them talk—their true thoughts would show.

Dante, sitting casually on the crate like he had no part in this, just smiled.

"Oh?" he mused, tilting his head as if he'd just heard something amusing. "Now that's interesting."

The girl crossed her arms. "What's interesting?"

Dante shrugged, all ease and amusement. "Nothing, nothing. Just funny how quick you are to back a theory you weren't even considering a minute ago." He glanced at the twitchy boy. "And how defensive you are about it. Almost like you don't want the idea to spread." Dante plays the cards he's been delt, nodding to these two that he might be onto them.

The boy scoffed. "I just don't like being manipulated."

I watch carefully. Neither of them were the Shaman for certain, but their reactions had been telling. The girl was too eager to pin it on someone else. The boy was too resistant to the idea altogether. Opposing reactions, yet equally suspicious.

The tension mounted. Pressing against my skin, thick as the humid air inside the enclosed carriage.

Then, the shift.

Not a full fight, but close.

The girl took a step toward me. "If you're innocent, prove it."

I raised a brow. "How exactly do I do that?"

She faltered for just a second, but it was enough.

Dante seized the opening immediately.

"Exactly," he said, voice light but cutting. "How does one prove a negative? A tricky little game, isn't it? One of you so eager to point the finger, the other a little too unwilling to even consider it. Curious."

The girl clenched her jaw. The boy's fingers twitched.

Dante had set the board, and now the pieces were moving.

I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to stay relaxed. I was bait, but I was still a player. The moment would come when he had to make his move.

And when it did, I had to be ready.