Peekaboo

The air inside the Oblivis was thick with suspicion, the tension shifting from uneasy murmurs to something sharper. More deliberate. The glances were no longer casual—they lingered, sizing me up, waiting for a mistake.

Then, Lysara spoke again. The girl who had just challenged me to prove myself, I heard her name from the murmurs of her clique.

"If we're even considering the idea that he's a Shaman, why are we letting him sit here?" Her voice carried over the rattling of the carriage, cutting through the hum of nervous conversation. "Are we really just going to wait for him to use his magic?"

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group.

I stayed quiet. Dante had played his game well—too well. This wasn't just paranoia anymore. It was turning into a verdict.

Revik—the man who dismissed Dante's claim of my guilt— exhaled sharply. "This is insane. You're seriously buying into Dante's theatrics?" He leaned forward, shoulders tense. "We have no proof. What if he's just—"

Lysara scoffed. "That's exactly what a Shaman would want you to say."

The accusation was more powerful than the truth. I could see it in the shifting eyes, the tightening fists. Logic had left the conversation. Fear was taking over.

And then, Lysara escalated.

She stood, gaze sweeping across the group. "Let's settle it now. We vote."

The words sent a ripple through the carriage, a pause before the inevitable rush. A few voices rose in agreement, some hesitant, others eager.

Dante, still lounging against his crate, exhaled like a man watching a show reach its most interesting act.

I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to play my part.

Deny too much, I look guilty.

Deny too little, I look worse.

I needed to own my role.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, meeting Lysara's gaze without hesitation. "So that's it? You get nervous, and I'm out?" I let my voice stay even, steady. "If I were a Shaman, you think I'd just let you throw me off?"

Her eyes narrowed, but I could see the flicker of doubt.

Revik crossed his arms. "This whole vote is stupid." His voice was tight, controlled, but I caught the twitch in his fingers. He hated this idea. Too much.

Dante smiled to himself.

Lysara turned back to the group. "Fine. Those who say we kick him out before we reach Echohollow, raise your hand."

The moment stretched. Hands hesitated. Then, one by one, they rose.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

It was happening.

I could feel the energy shifting, the weight of numbers pressing in. The ones who didn't raise their hands weren't protesting—they were just waiting.

Lysara pressed. "Majority rules."

Someone moved. A step toward me.

A shift in weight.

A decision.

Then—

A new voice cut through the rising chaos.

"Pathetic."

Sera Naoki.

He was still leaning against the far side of the carriage, arms crossed, watching with cold detachment. His expression was carved from stone, but his voice carried something sharper than anger. Contempt.

Lysara turned to him, surprised. "What?"

Sera pushed off the wall, stepping forward. He was slow, deliberate. He looked at her, then at the others, then at me. "You're all so scared," he muttered. "Like cattle pretending they're wolves."

The shift in the air was immediate. People pulled back slightly, uneasy.

Sera rolled his neck, stretching his shoulders. "A real Shaman wouldn't let you do this." His gaze flicked to me. "If he was a threat, you'd already be dead."

Lysara stiffened, but she didn't speak.

No one did.

Dante's smirk widened.

Sera's presence alone had shattered the momentum. What had been a rising tide of fear and action had frozen under something more primal. Strength.

No one wanted to admit it, but he was right. If I were truly dangerous, this wouldn't be a conversation.

Sera let the silence stretch, then snorted. "If you're gonna kill him, kill him. Otherwise, sit down." Dispite the violence in that boy, for some reason he trusted Dante enough to see his plan out, reading the true meaning of this situation.

The energy cracked.

Hands lowered. Eyes darted away. No one wanted to be the first to back down—but no one wanted to be the one to take the first step forward, either.

Lysara's jaw clenched, but she didn't argue.

Dante finally clapped his hands together, the sound sharp in the quiet. "Well, that was exciting," he mused. "I do love a dramatic finish."

I exhaled slowly, feeling the tension shift off me. Not gone, but redirected.

Dante leaned toward me, voice barely a whisper. "That went better than expected."

I didn't respond.

Because I had noticed something.

Not just who had jumped to accuse me.

But who had stayed too quiet.

The real game had just begun.

—----------------------------------------

We sat in the dim glow of the Oblivis lanterns, huddled together on crates and bags of cargo while the rest of the carriage stewed in paranoia. The tension from the earlier confrontation hadn't faded—it lingered in the air like smoke after a fire, heavy and cloying. But in our little corner, away from the prying eyes of the others, Dante looked positively delighted.

He cracked his knuckles, his single eye glinting with amusement. "Well, that went beautifully," he announced, grinning. "Wouldn't you agree, my dear Kach?"

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders. "You could've warned me first."

"Where's the fun in that?" He leaned back, utterly at ease. "Besides, you played your role perfectly. The paranoia's settled in, the pot is boiling over, and—most importantly—we have our suspects."

Hal crossed his arms. "You're certain? Just from that?"

Dante gave a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. "Oh, Hal. Sweet, naive Hal. It's not about certainty—it's about likelihood. We aren't looking for a confession, we're looking for cracks in the mask. And we found two."

Love tilted her head. "Lysara and Adam."

Dante snapped his fingers, pointing at her like she was a prized student. "Precisely. Lysara was too eager to pin it on Kach, which means she's either desperate for control or trying to steer attention away from herself. But Adam? That man practically melted into the background. No strong opinions, no real participation, just went along with the easiest path."

"Which," I noted, "would be a perfect way for a Shaman to keep themselves from being noticed."

Dante grinned, tapping his temple. "Exactly. Lysara was aggressive, Adam was passive. One of them overplayed, the other underplayed. And yet, they both stood out for it."

Hal frowned, rubbing his chin. "But wouldn't a smart Shaman stay somewhere in the middle? Blend just enough?"

Dante smirked. "That's what makes this fun. You see, staying perfectly balanced in a room of chaos isn't natural. The more people flail around, the harder it is not to flinch. Adam? He didn't flinch. That's more suspicious than any outburst."

Love let out a low hum. "So what now? We just keep watching them?"

Dante wagged a finger. "Ah, see, that's where phase two comes in." He leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "We don't just watch. We push. We nudge. We let them think they've fooled us—let them settle into that false sense of security."

I narrowed my eyes. "And then?"

Dante grinned. "As I said, phase two."

Before I could ask what that meant, the Oblivis jolted, a heavy thud reverberating through the carriage.

Dante leaned back, exhaling through his nose like he was savoring the moment. "Ah. Right on schedule."

The game wasn't over. It was just beginning.