When I finally landed on soft ground, I dug my heels into the beautiful red rug beneath me, to give myself the satisfaction that I was no longer dangling dangerously from the side of the great manor house.

I’d entered one of the few rooms that’d had light, by elbowing a small window and crawling through it desperately. Ultimately, even after all of the struggle, I hadn’t caught sight of a single person inside—only the remnants of what had possibly been two people that’d had their slumber disturbed.

Dusting myself off, I took in the sight of a messy bed, most likely shared, in a room that was almost similar to my own, though a little bigger, with what looked to be a bathroom closest toward where I’d come through.

In front of me, the only door to enter the room was wide open, allowing the utter darkness of the hallway to come spilling inside. Not even the bright light from the burning fireplace could diminish the eeriness from out there.

Gulping down a bout of fear, I took slow steps to the door, though not without letting my eyes drink in the scene of the bedroom on my way out.

First of all—it was quiet.

Second—the one suspicious thing that sent a shiver up my spine was the fact that someone had left behind a bloody handkerchief on the floor, near the side of the bed that was closest to the door.

Grimacing at the bloody cloth, I stooped to examine it at a closer angle. It was in moments like this that I wished I also had gloves, like Yora. I didn’t want to pick it up with my bare hands, so I instead lifted it with a pen from the nearby nightstand, and stuffed it into one of my jacket pockets.

The blood was dry, like it’d been left somewhere for a while.

The blood that wasn’t dry . . . was something that I had almost missed because of the red rug below me.

Small splatters of deep red trailed along the floor from the opened bathroom door, all the way to the door of the bedroom. It was not enough to be concerned over, but enough to leave a proper trail behind.

I could follow it.

Before I dashed out though, I quickly stopped in my tracks, to rethink my actions.

I had to be careful. I was about to follow a trail of blood into a completely pitch black hallway, with no candle to guide me.

Earlier, I’d also heard someone scream. It was possible that one of the guests was hurt. But why? Was the murderer going around killing them already? Even when class was occurring?

I had to find the student who apparently knew the ‘schedule’ for the next class, otherwise I’d be the second one to spill blood.

A low cry from the hallway made me almost drop the pen in my hand. The whimpering sounded as if it was coming from not too far . . .

It was faint, like the person was . . . struggling . . .

My breathing hitched when I heard the cries dissipate immediately. Just the sound of my breathing, mingling with the unknown crying in the hallway—it felt as if I’d been caught doing something I wasn’t allowed to do.

Technically, that was kind of what I was trying to accomplish anyway, though it was hard to continue on. I froze instantaneously, to listen intently to any possible danger.

I closed my eyes, thinking back to Yora who was possibly still stuck in that room.

I had to return to him, or else . . .

Gaining courage, I swiftly turned on my heels and exited the room, looking left and right cautiously before entering the hallway completely. My eyes hadn’t gotten used to the darkness well, but as I stood there and just listened, I adjusted to the new environment as best as I could.

Another whimper from out of nowhere made me take a short step back. I refrained from freezing again, though I was still somewhat fearful of what could arrive.

There could be someone out there with a weapon, which could’ve also explained the blood stains on the floor that I’d found. If the person had emerged from their bathroom, injured, then had the incident occurred there?

But since we now all had ‘roommates’, as the professor had stated in his message, then what must’ve happened to the second guest in that room? Either of them could’ve been the student I should’ve been looking for.

Though, at the same time, I had to remember that there was someone injured out there, and that they needed help as soon as possible. There was also the fact that there was a murderer loose among us, and that these guests had not yet met me.

If Yora was correct about most of the guests accepting me without much suspicion—then I truly hoped the roommates of that bedroom were amongst those that would trust me.

A soft push against my back made me lose my breath. I’d been caught off guard by someone who had knocked against me in the darkness. It felt as if it’d been accidental.

“Oh . . . gosh . . .” That whimpering voice was near my ear, voice strained like the person had been crying, “It hurts . . .”

Without thinking, I grabbed onto the figure and drew the individual near the one window that was closest to us. From the light of the moon outside, I could make out that the person was another man, dressed in a uniform exactly like mine. His dark hair, looking almost silver in the moonlight, was messy, like he’d been in a tussle.

“Who are you?” I demanded quietly. When I held him, I’d taken his forearms, in case he held any weapons.

He had nothing in his hands.

Nothing, but . . .

Taking a better look, I saw, for the first time, his right palm covered in bright red blood, seeping into his uniform sleeve, and staining his gold buttons in scarlet. Even the area around his mouth was bloody. I’d guessed he’d tried to muffle his crying with his hand.

“Who . . . are—” The man tried to pull away, but I held onto him more firmly, so that he would not run.

“I am John W. Michael, the assistant of Riley Ledders.” I said quickly, shaking him so that he could come to his senses. “Where is your roommate and what happened to you two?”

The stranger blinked at me, appearing panicked. It was what I must’ve looked like when Yora first came across me.

‘A scared mouse.’

That was what he had compared me to.

After a minute of hearing his breathing slow down, he responded quietly, in a calmer manner, “You are the guest that was supposed to come with Cig.” His hands hadn’t stopped shaking, and nor had his bleeding.

“I am sorry I could not make it to the meeting, but please—” I let go of his arms, “Tell me who you are and I will help you.”

“Frederic Blood.” He introduced without hesitancy. I assumed he was more scared about losing too much blood, than of my presence.

I recounted the men that Yora had named, and remembered that there had indeed been a ‘Frederic Blood’ amongst our party. The man did not have blue, green, or grey eyes, therefore I concluded his name definitely meant that he was not a part of Westley or Modiano.

Frederic Blood was the son of a family who owned quite a few blood clinics associated with the Westley family hospitals. Seeing the man covered in blood should’ve been a dead giveaway as to who he was . . . though that was not the proper way to deduce his identity. It’d just been ironic to see him in such a state.

Letting him gather his breath, I pulled him carefully back to the room, though not before he pulled me close to him, eyes widening at something behind me.

Scared, I did not look back as he gripped my wrist with his uninjured hand. “T-The . . .” He inhaled sharply.

He was fumbling with his words badly, whilst I stayed planted in my spot, fearing what was close by. His grip loosened eventually, as if the thing he was scared of had slipped away silently from us.

I glanced at his pale face, which was losing color from his constant shock. Perhaps he had been imagining shapes in the dark? “What is it?” I whispered.