Poker Face

The moment felt like it had been building for hours, but in truth, we were already in the thick of it. My pulse was steady, my breath even, but every word that left my mouth was a calculated strike, honed by Dante's instruction.

Adam sat across from me, perfectly at ease. His posture was relaxed, his hands resting lightly on his knees, but there was something too measured about the way he held himself. Too casual. His gaze flicked lazily to me, as if he had barely noticed I was speaking.

"Strange, isn't it?" I mused, keeping my voice light. "How fast people turn on each other. A single word, a little pressure, and suddenly everyone's looking for someone to burn."

Adam smiled faintly, the kind of smile that meant nothing. "Fear makes people predictable."

"Predictable how?"

He shrugged, his fingers tapping idly against his leg. "People want an answer. They need certainty, even if it's built on nothing. And when you give them someone to blame, they'll eat it up." His eyes lifted to mine. "Dante knows that. So do you."

I ignored the chill creeping up my spine. He was good. Calm, controlled. The kind of person who could blend into a crowd so seamlessly that you'd never think to question him. That's what made him dangerous.

"You're not wrong," I admitted, mirroring his casual tone. "But if that's true, why haven't you spoken up more? Seems like the kind of game you'd want to play."

Adam chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, I don't need to play. I just watch."

A simple answer. Too simple. He wasn't taking the bait—not fully. But Dante had told me to press, to get under his skin, to force a reaction.

I leaned forward, lowering my voice just enough to make it seem like I was revealing something private. "You know what I think? I think you're too comfortable. While everyone else scrambles to prove themselves, you sit back and let things unfold."

Adam tilted his head, feigning curiosity. "And what does that prove?"

"That you don't care about the outcome," I said. "Unless, of course, you already know how it ends."

His smile didn't waver, but I caught it—the subtle flicker in his expression, the way his fingers momentarily stopped tapping. It was quick, barely noticeable, but Dante had warned me to watch for it.

Meanwhile, across the carriage, Hal and Love were cornering Lysara, who had doubled down on pinning the blame on me. Her voice rose with conviction, slicing through the murmurs around her.

"He's the only one that makes sense!" she insisted. "Everything about him is suspect! And now he's whispering with Adam? You really don't see it?"

Dante, leaning against a crate, only smiled. He hadn't intervened yet. He was letting it play out, watching them dig their own graves.

Lysara wasn't the Shaman, but she was useful. She was loud, aggressive, and drawing more eyes. And that meant Adam had to start working harder to keep the focus off himself.

Sure enough, Adam let out a soft sigh, shaking his head as if exhausted by the whole thing. Then, smoothly, he played his hand.

"Lysara has a point," he said, loud enough for the others to hear. "This whole thing started with Dante whispering in shadows, stirring paranoia. And now Kach is suddenly at the center of it? Feels deliberate."

A few heads turned toward me, suspicion reigniting.

Dante finally moved.

"Now that's interesting," he mused, stepping forward, his smirk lazy but his eyes sharp. "Adam, you've barely spoken this entire trip. And the first time you do, it's to push the focus back onto Kach? A little convenient, don't you think?"

Adam's smile remained, but his fingers resumed their tapping. "Not at all," he countered smoothly. "I just don't like being manipulated."

Dante grinned. "Neither do I."

The air in the carriage tensed, the weight of the moment pressing in on all of us. The conversation had reached its tipping point.

Adam knew.

Dante knew.

And now, the rest of the group was starting to see it too.

"Alright," Dante finally said, exhaling as if he were bored of the whole ordeal. "Let's stop dancing around it." His gaze locked onto Adam, amusement flickering behind his sharp grin. "You've been playing a careful game, I'll give you that. But unfortunately for you, I don't lose games."

Adam's smile faltered just slightly.

Dante's grin widened.

"You're the Shaman," he declared.

Silence.

Then, chaos.

Lysara erupted, her voice cutting through the tension. "That's bullshit!" she snapped. "You're just trying to protect your little friend!"

Adam, to his credit, didn't panic. He let the accusation settle, watching the reactions around him, gauging the weight of Dante's words.

But Dante wasn't finished.

"You played it too safe," Dante continued, tone almost disappointed. "You never asked questions. Never challenged anything. You just followed whatever would cause the least resistance. That works for a while—until it doesn't."

Adam chuckled under his breath. "You're very confident for someone who has no proof."

Dante shrugged. "I don't need proof." He gestured to the others. "They've already decided."

And he was right. The group, though divided moments ago, had shifted. Adam was too calm. Too careful. And when put under the light, his lack of reaction had betrayed him.

The vote was cast.

One by one, hands rose.

Adam sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. Then, to my surprise, he laughed. A quiet, genuine laugh.

"Well," he mused, rolling his shoulders. "That was fun."

And just like that, the act was dropped.

He grinned at Dante, then at me, then at Hal and Love.

"Congratulations," he said, voice light. "You passed."

The weight in my chest didn't lessen.

Dante's smirk remained, but his eyes were unreadable.

Adam stretched lazily, as if he hadn't just spent the last hour weaving lies and deception. "I'll admit, I was hoping I'd last a little longer," he said. "But… I suppose I should've known better. You were always going to figure it out, weren't you, Dante?"

Dante gave him a lazy shrug. "Of course."

Adam exhaled through his nose, then clapped his hands together. "Well then. Enjoy Echohollow."

And with that, he leaned back, watching as the Oblivis rumbled onward.

The game was over.

But something told me it had only just begun.