I awoke with a tremor, eyes wide open as my grogginess escaped me, and reality set in. It was as if I hadn’t slept. Even with the bed being extremely soft and warm, I had not settled into the house comfortably. Who would? The fact that I wouldn’t be getting much sleep at all was too troubling to think about. I would be pushed to my limits, in many ways.

And with that thought, I grumbled, and partly whined at the idea. I'd accepted this job with the hope that I wouldn’t be completely trapped. I had been ignorant.

Rising, I slid my left hand from beneath the pillow I’d used to sleep on. The covers had kept me warm for my entire nap, which was—

The clock on the fireplace mantel showed me that it was almost seven.

Dinner time.

I rested for 8 hours.

Nearly sitting, I propped myself up with my arm and rubbed at one eye. The uniform I’d been given was a size larger than what I usually wore, but I could pull it off.

The reason I’d worn it to sleep was because of safety reasons. If any other announcement from the professor came along, I would be able to get up immediately to follow the next orders. It wasn’t something I wanted to do willingly, but I had to do whatever I could to survive long enough to figure out who had ruined my plans.

Recalling the other person in the room, I swiftly turned to see if he was still there, or maybe even sleeping.

Yora was sitting with his back to me. I could only see the tips of his gloved fingers as he pulled at the garments snuggly up his wrists. I hadn’t known if he’d napped along with me. The last I saw of him, he had been sitting in front of the fire, watching it silently.

And I had not wanted to really sleep, not with a potential murderer in the room, but at the same time I was emotionally exhausted. I had even experienced some weird memory loss as well. I could tell that I had needed to calm down, and sleep had been the best option for me to relieve my stress.

My roommate didn’t speak as he finished slipping on his gloves. He changed them frequently. I’d seen the trash bin in the bathroom full of them.

“You didn’t kill me.” I said.

Yora sat back, sighing.

“Thank you.” I told him. I figured it would be best to get on his good side, despite my cautions towards him.

He looked at me slyly, “John.”

Without meaning to, I leaned away. The way he said things made my skin crawl sometimes. His tone shifted from high to very deep.

Yora continued, “Alliance or not, I trust you.” He admitted, turning towards me fully. I didn’t move. “You aren’t going to hurt me. I know that because you’ve been hired by my aunt, right?”

Oh . . .

“She has a habit of hiring private detectives.” He revealed, with another sly smile. He had looked away from me when he’d said it, but he gave me his attention when he finished, “I don’t mean to offend you in any way. I only realized this because I am nosy, and because I’m the only one who takes her seriously . . .” Yora had referred to her as his ‘aunt’. They weren’t related, not by blood. “I’m wrong, though. You, John, believed her as well. And I’m guessing that is why you are here.”

I didn’t say anything for a long time.

My eyes refused to leave his. I hated breaking eye contact with people, especially with him.

I did, for a split second, to see that the ashtray from before was gone completely. He had gotten rid of the cigarettes.

Yora grabbed the bedpost, gloves stretching as he did so, “I’ll take your silence as a confirmation.”

“Why are you protecting me?”

This time he appeared surprised.

In the short period of time, when I finally had time to think, I deduced that he was keeping me close for a very good reason. Was I some pawn for him?

“I would like you to find the person who killed my uncle.” He said, and added, “Mr. Detective.” The way he called me that—it was like he was exaggerating that title. I wasn’t an actual detective. I was just someone who could figure out puzzles a little more quickly than most people.

Like Mrs. Ledders, Yora had given me the same requesting look as her. They were both tired, and I couldn’t seem to trust either of them.

I didn’t think I ever would.

“Why do you refer to them as your aunt and uncle?” I questioned, surprising him again. “Westley and Modiano aren’t related.”

He gave me another sigh, “My family does not trust each other at all, so we must depend on another family who is entirely dependent on business, more so than in their own blood.”

“You trust Westley?” I wanted him to clarify his own beliefs.

Yora nodded, “I trust them with my life.” He answered. “And thus the death of my uncle must’ve been for a good reason.”

His reasoning didn’t sound like something a person would normally think of.

But . . . ‘normal’ didn’t exist in their world.

Before I could speak on it, he spoke, “If you think that this murder has fractured our bond with Westley, then you are very wrong, Mr. Detective.” He said, “It has deepened it.”

It was difficult to understand where he was coming from. It was near to impossible to place myself in his shoes.

“It’s easier for you if you realize that Modiano and Westley will never be separated. Never.” He said this with such finality, as if saying the opposite would be blasphemous.

The families most likely could not survive without one another. This meant that George Westley had broken that promise, that safety. Which led me to believe that even if I did find the murderer, I would not be able to capture them.

These families would merely let that person run away.

I was hunting a lost cause—

“What if I’m not the person you think I am?” I warned him.

He grinned. It held little emotion. “I know nothing of you, other than the fact that you are a private detective.” He said. “I personally don’t care who you are in here—” He placed his gloved hand to his chest.

It was my turn to smirk, “You people are all the same, aren't you?”

I was being hypocritical. I too had grown in a nice house, with privilege, and with an inheritance waiting for me.

Something was off with this family, though . . .

Someone was disrupting the balance. But who?

Yora had ignored my last remark to ask me a question. “John.”

“What?” I responded, grumpy.

“Do you remember my name?” He asked.

I huffed. Here he was again, questioning me with names. I was perfectly fine.

“Yora Linda, of the Modiano family.” I said, waving him off and standing, to brush away the wrinkles from my uniform. Maybe it had been a bad idea to sleep in it.

Yora hadn’t left the bed. “Good.”

Gosh, would he be doing that frequently? I hoped not. I had been shaken up earlier in the day, but that had been a natural response to what had happened. The trauma from before was still there, but at least I had subdued it with rest.

It reminded me of the instincts that’d been ingrained in me. I’d grown up hearing stories from my relatives, the ones who had actually been detectives out in the field.

Unfortunately, I had been a child that’d become accustomed to the mention murder. I knew there were people out there who were capable of doing such things, and I knew how to defend myself from them.

If Yora was serious about his request, of wanting me to find the murderer, then I wouldn’t hesitate to tell him that he could rely on me.

I could protect him.

Shaking my head, I eliminated that thought from my mind.

Mrs. Ledders and her sons were my priority, as well as my own life.

I took a deep breath, to calm down. Even with the cigarettes gone, I could still smell that flowery aroma.

It seemed that it would continue to taunt me. I just couldn’t tell if Yora was telling the entire truth yet or not, or even if he would.

It was tempting to trust someone, to rely on them, and to let them rely on me. To not be alone in such a traumatizing situation . . .

I watched Yora’s gloved hands as they fell to his sides.

It made me question whether he was strong enough to endure this trial. Murderer or not—

Could he make it out of this alive?

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

Walking out into the hallway, the fear from before began settling in my gut once again. I felt exposed, like I had to retreat back into the room for safety.

But how safe was it in there?

Yora sensed my reaction, and stood before the hallway, to block my view from the unending darkness. Night had come to Westley Manor, and it was even darker than I had last seen it.

Judging by the time, it was already time for dinner. It was hardly believable that the men had enough strength and willpower to eat together in a formal dining room, unless the professor had set everything up for them to gather in such a way.

They had to survive somehow, and if the professor was adamant about treating us like school children, then it was possible he’d ensure us a proper amount of food.

I only had to see if my stomach was strong enough to eat, or if I would be too anxious to lift a fork.

Yora and I had silently gotten ourselves ready before we’d departed from the room. The only thing he had told me was that we needed to talk with the other dorm leaders, but I assumed I would be meeting everyone.

The way that this professor had us all playing out this game so quickly made me feel uncomfortable. He’d made us fit into these roles so easily. But then again, back when I had actually been a student, I’d always thought of school as a prison. That hadn’t changed, not even in adulthood.

I eyed the tiny circled window behind me, to watch water glide down the glass. It was drizzling outside. Not the best time to make any escape.

I couldn’t. I had to attend the dinner to find Jack Ledders.

Yora took the only candle in the hallway that had been left lit. The others most likely had died out. The one he held was nearly done too. “I have to leave you.”

What?

My previous thoughts of Yora asking me to protect him vanished instantly. “Seriously?”

“Alexander and the rest of the dorm leaders are waiting for me in his room.” He said, searching the hallway. “I have to meet up with them.”

“I don’t even know how to navigate this place, and you’re telling me that you have to leave me?” I scoffed. “Fine.”

I made a move to brush past him, but he reached out to me. He had almost grabbed my arm, though he drew himself back when he noticed what he had been close to doing.

Fisting his gloved hand, he closed his eyes as he explained, “My friend is coming to escort you to the dining room.” He said, “If you are comfortable with that arrangement, then—”

“Your friend?” 

“Yes.” He replied.

“And I’m supposed to trust him too?” I shook my head, tired once more.

I felt like I was in some haunted mansion, where the ghosts of the house would come and whisper into my ear, to scare me. I wasn’t convinced that wandering the darkened halls of Westley Manor with a stranger and a half-lit candle was totally safe.

Moments ago I had almost done that with Yora. 

I just had to force myself to move forward. “Well, what's his name—?”

A face emerged from the darkness, holding a candle that was barely alive. There was only melted wax in the holder, and a small wick, the last of it. That was why I hadn’t fully seen the stranger coming. The light he held was too faint. “My name is Siegfried.” The new voice said, standing beside me. “Siegfried Catherine is my full name.” He introduced. “I’m not related to the families—” He assured me, as if that would make me trust him more (it didn’t).

His presence made me jump, and back away. These people weren’t the best when it came to introducing themselves. Everyone that I had met had scared me half to death with how they’d arrived out of thin air.

I could only assume that they were merely used to the layout of the house, and that I only saw it as a new and unfamiliar environment. That was how they were managing to catch me off my guard.

Yora raised the candle to his friend. The young man was shorter than I was, around 5'5", and he wore thick round spectacles that covered most of his face.

It was true that he was unrelated to the families. I could see that his eyes weren’t green, grey, or blue. They were brown, like mine.

Of course, that couldn’t convince me entirely, but I chose to believe his word on that.

So . . .

There were outsiders at this party too. Judging by the selection that the professor had done to gather everyone in the house, I assumed the outsiders were very close friends of Westley and Modiano, the type of friends that held bonds so tight they could’ve been a part of the family.

Yora confirmed this when he said, “Cig is my childhood friend.”

Another nickname I had to remember. ‘Cig’ was probably a shortened version of his actual name, ‘Siegfried’.

“I am basically his lab partner at work too.” Cig lifted his glasses up with his forefinger. He didn’t wear gloves. “I was also his lab partner in school.”

They apparently worked together, in a lab, but Yora was the only one who wore gloves outside of that profession.

What did they do there, exactly?

Yora walked past Cig and I, to make his departure, “Well, then—”

I went after him, so as not to lose him in the darkness.

It surprised them both.

I hadn’t meant to make a show of it. I'd wanted to make him stop, so that he wouldn’t leave us alone. It was a stupid action. Whether he was by my side or not didn’t matter, for either of us.

Siegfried held the candle out to me. I took it, and thanked him. He was calm. “I will take you to our destination safely. If that is okay with you.”

Looking at Yora, I abandoned my resolve and relaxed my shoulders. I had to settle down. “My name is John.” I told him, lifting the candle up to greet him.

He gave me a nod, “Then, John, allow me to tell you a few things.” He said, in a whisper, “I know Yora must’ve kept a lot hidden from you in there.” He pointed to our bedroom door.

I turned to see if Yora had listened, but he had walked off without us, down the hallway, his candlelight flickering, and slowly dying away. The thick darkness would swallow him up, until he’d be completely gone and out of sight.

I returned my gaze to Siegfried before that could happen. “Why?”

He too glanced at Yora, “He’s a tricky fellow.” And then said, “But you must’ve noticed that by now.”

Right . . .

He was right.

I stared at his uniform. Unlike the trousers that Yora and I wore, he had shorts. His argyle crew socks even matched the colors of the uniform.

They must have had different variations of the school uniform. Whoever was the mastermind behind the entire game had put a lot of detail into everything.

“Shall we?” Cig asked, inviting me to walk next to him.

I analyzed him from head to toe discreetly, thinking that he could’ve been the murderer as well. “Of course.”

Carefully, I brought the candle up higher, to light the hallway.

Between the pink cigarettes in the room and Cig, Yora Linda couldn’t seem to detach himself from his own family product.

Well, I could ask about it. I could ask his friend who was conveniently there, with me.

And honestly . . .

I most likely would.