There was little to no time to waste. I’d no idea what had happened to Pippin, and the professor hadn’t let slip what exactly he’d done to the poor man. I was afraid that we would be too late, but I could not say that in front of Frederic. Although he had finished writing down the blood types of the men in our party, he was still trembling, albeit with less extremity than before.

It assured me that he was somewhat ready to begin finding his roommate. I too was tempted to rush, to make haste—but that would’ve been the worst decision for us.

Rising from his seat at the desk, Frederic watched me with solemn eyes. With his arm extended out to me, I took the piece of paper from his hand and looked at the list of names in the firelight. His hand had been shaking, but his handwriting was neater than I’d expected. It made me assume the man had wanted to do his best to retrieve his roommate, despite how scared he must’ve felt.

I thought of how different my fear was, compared to the other men who were with me. I was not a part of their family, therefore their fears were not similar to my own. I would never really know what it was that they were so scared of.

Of course, I was frightened by the entire sinister situation as well, but to them . . .

It was a whole different story.

When I stood close to Frederic, and when I had slept beside Yora—there had been a certain sense of fear that emanated from them, a fear I could not really describe. It almost felt like uncertainty, or maybe even hopelessness. A fear that hadn’t grown during our stay, but likely throughout their childhood. An ingrained fear.

Again, I could not say that to Frederic, but perhaps I could ask Yora later.

If I ever see him again.

I waved away that thought with the paper in my hand, and dutifully continued our task. Bending down, I slipped that paper beneath the locked door and stayed there on the ground, watching the shadows of the flames behind me dance on the floor.

Frederic stayed quiet all the while, as we waited impatiently for any other word from the professor.

I couldn’t help but think about Yora during our silence, though.

Surprisingly, I’d barely realized how scary these tasks must’ve been for someone who could not touch others. And what if my ally could not protect himself? What if I accidentally touched him? Would he hate me?

I did not know who to ask in regards to Yora’s condition. I could possibly ask Cig, but he seemed far too close to Yora for me to be asking such personal questions about his friend.

Alexander was a possibility, though I could hardly see myself ever speaking to him about such matters. I could hardly picture myself ever having another conversation with the man at all.

Standing, I pressed my back to the wall, right beside the door.

That was when an idea struck me.

I hadn’t asked Frederic an important question. It was a question I should’ve asked Cig too, back when we’d had that walk throughout the manor.

“May I ask you something?” I said carefully.

Frederic picked up on how I’d said this with caution. It was going to be a heavy question. “What will you ask me?” He responded. His voice was rough, probably due to the fact that he hadn’t spoken for a while.

I took a moment to watch him, before I asked, “Who do you think is the murderer?”

As if expecting that, he instead asked me a question in return, “Can I tell you someone who definitely isn’t?”

Those words he’d said came out so defiantly, so strongly that I had to stand up straight, to hear his answer, “Yes.”

He chewed on his lower lip, eyes cast down until he looked straight at me. “Out of everyone here . . . Yora definitely did not do it, John.”

I waited, to see if he would say more.

“But it does not look like you believe me.” He finished.

Not knowing what to reply, I chose silence.

Hearing Frederic’s answer, I knew that Cig’s would’ve been the same. Was Modiano just a trustworthy family? I did not know enough to make that assumption.

Within a minute of our quiet moment, my ears picked up on a small click. I would’ve mistaken it for the flickering flames in the fireplace, though Frederic also perked up at the sound.

With a steady hand I tried the knob on the door handle, and realized that it was unlocked. Frederic looked at me with wide, triumphant eyes, but I did not return his enthusiasm. I held a finger to my lips and turned slowly to face the door.

I had wanted to open it gradually, in case the masked man had any dangerous ideas—unfortunately though, a presence from the other side forced me to take a few rushed steps back in surprise.

Someone had opened the door before I could.

Behind me, Frederic rushed past me to greet the new member of our party. I merely stared, flabbergasted at what my eyes were seeing.

Catching my gaze, Yora let out a breath he must’ve been holding all this time that we’d been apart. I too exhaled softly when I realized that he was there, with us, just mere inches away.

Relief flooded my sense of duty, to the point where I had to snap myself back to reality.

But I couldn’t stop staring. I had to look at him for a long while, to make sure he was actually real.

“Yora, I’m so glad to see you!” Frederic stayed a distance away from him, knowing he could not grab onto him. “How did you escape?”

Confused, I finally woke up just slightly to scold myself for not reacting in the way that I should’ve at first. Frederic’s sudden reaction of glee must have clouded my sense of reason for a second.

Why had I felt relief before suspicion when Yora arrived?

Intuition?

I shook my head, holding my temples. I must’ve been exhausted. That was the only excuse.

Yora responded, “I’m happy to see you alive, Frederic.” He had said this with sincerity. If Yora was lying, then it was not present on his face.

He had looked exactly the same as when I’d left him. The uniform, the gloves, his unkempt hair, and basically everything else.

Could he have had the time to change into that masquerade costume?

Pushing my suspicions (and relief) to the side, I tried to stay nonchalant as I faced him, “How did you escape?” I repeated Frederic’s question.

Yora gave me his classic smile. The one that made him resemble a cunning snake, “You doubt my abilities to pick locks?” With a swift motion, he unfastened a black clip from his hair. I hadn’t seen it before. Not in this terrible lighting.

I simply studied him, until I replied, “I’m not sure if it’s appropriate of me to ask why you know how to escape rooms like that.” I’d said this in a hushed tone.

My roommate walked past Frederic to reach me more closely, so that he could speak to me quietly too, “I won’t stop you from asking me later when we’re alone.”

The glare that I sent him made Yora grin, just the tiniest bit. I’d managed to catch sight of it because we were too close.

Frederic, all the while, looked at us confusedly.

I cleared my throat, “Anyways—” I made it a point not to make eye contact with Yora. Instead, I took note of the fact that the paper I’d slipped under the door was now gone, and Yora was not holding onto it. Unless he had put it in his pocket? “We have to find Pippin.”

Both Yora and Frederic nodded, determined.

I’d interrogate Yora later. For now, there was a game we needed to finish, and we had to complete it tonight, or else . . .

Thinking again of the relief I felt earlier, I tried not to let the frustration of that feeling overwhelm me. I couldn’t wholly trust these men. And yet suspicion had not been the first feeling I’d felt when I saw Yora?

No matter how much I tried, that thought would not stop bothering me. It was like my emotions were trying desperately to tell me to believe in his innocence.

I could not throw away my logic.

I couldn’t.

I had a job to do.

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

Frederic had definitely relaxed with the appearance of Yora. That tight-knit atmosphere between the family members of Westley and Modiano was quite prominent and in full display once again, reminding me that I was very much an outsider.

The only one daring enough to approach me in such a tense situation was Yora, who was walking right beside me, carefully avoiding letting our shoulders brush as we walked through the intensely dark hallways of Westley Manor.

Frederic was in front of us, keeping a look out with his newfound self-confidence. Yora and I were covering the back, in case anyone decided to pop up out of thin air.

According to the observations we’d made before departing the room, I’d concluded that the professor had a certain set of tasks in mind for us. Since this felt like a job that was being done by a family member towards other family members, I guessed that it was possible the challenges would be directed at certain guests depending on what they did for a living.

How else would the men carry on during this ‘game’? I’d thought of this when the professor had challenged Frederic with writing down the blood types of the family members. No one would’ve known that information but him. And now, sadly, the next task was most likely for Pippin, not for us.

With Pippin’s main position as the man in charge of Westley Motors, it only seemed correct that his task would be related to cars, or possibly something else that had a motor. And with the professor still quiet about our next step, I’d suggested we head to the garage, in the hopes of eliminating some time until the professor contacted us again.

But as we walked past so many locked doors in the darkness, I wondered what the other men would’ve thought about my assumption. Yora and Frederic had agreed with my deductions, even though I could’ve been entirely wrong.

It was a risk that I had to take, because there was a man’s life at stake. I wholeheartedly believed that the professor would hurt Pippin.

The bloody handkerchief had been enough to scare me, and to convince me that we would not be able to overcome these tasks without a little bloodshed.

That could’ve also been why he had asked Frederic to name our blood types—

We would lose blood, trying to battle our way out of here, and the professor had wanted to let us know that, in a very grim manner.

But I could have been entirely wrong about everything. That was why it was fascinating to fall deeply into such a mysterious situation. I did not know what I was getting myself into, though that could not stop me from playing the game.

Admittedly, this was what I’d always wanted to do. This was how I’d planned to make a living, and possibly become the best private investigator out there. To accomplish that dream, I had to choose logic over emotions, so that I could work with the men to escape and win this game.

I was getting ahead of myself, though. There were still occasions when I became frozen with fear. I doubted I could ever get rid of those moments, even when I was not working alone.

I took a subtle glance at Yora, and tried to look at him in the slivers of moonlight.

In the past, I was never one to take on partners. I’d had opportunities to share my business with others, but nothing ever truly worked out.

Feeling my eyes on him, Yora met my gaze. “You will always be suspicious of me, detective.”

“That depends,” I said. “Do you trust me enough?”

“A majority of the time.” He told me.

I looked down at his gloves. I was at least the tiniest bit happy that he knew I would not touch him. I could do that for him, but I could not ensure his other wishes.

“ . . . what do I have to do in order to trust you?” I questioned. “You make it seem as if I will only get out of here alive if I trust you, which makes you all the more suspicious to me.”

He smiled. I could tell he was amused by my response. “If I told you, you would become even more suspicious of me than you are now.”

I raised a brow, and silently responded, “What?”

Yora’s smile did not falter as he stared ahead, to where Frederic was. He had a solemn expression, almost bittersweet, “I cannot convince you that I am innocent, and nor can I ask you to blindly trust me.” He said delicately. “But if it comes down to it, and I . . . die . . . John, I just want you to—”

Without meaning to, I shook my head at him and stopped walking. Astounded that he’d even say that.

My expression must’ve said it all, because Yora stayed behind with me. I continued to give him a look of what I knew was vexation—vexation at the thought that I would let him die. It wasn’t the right way of responding to his words, but I just couldn’t stand there and accept that possibility.

I walked on, closing my eyes at my actions and at his warning. The emotions I’d wanted to get rid of were becoming troublesome.

“I’m going to go about this in a logical way, Yora.” I said, almost monotonously. He needed to understand. “If I say we are all going to survive, then believe me. You just have to help us, whether I trust you or not.”

He kept up with my pace. I was satisfied to see he hadn’t fallen back.

An airy laugh left his lips. It caused me to linger in my spot, to tilt my head challengingly at him.

Yora tugged at his left glove, “That look in your eye that you get sometimes is exactly why I clawed my way out of the room to find you.”

My confused scowl only encouraged him to continue.

“It’s scary sometimes . . .” He told me. “You look hungry, when your emotions are clouded by logic. Like a true detective.” He fixed his other glove. “I saw it when you first laid eyes on me . . . back when you were so scared about what was happening.”

I had not known that my face had said that. I hadn’t known that I’d done it this time either.

He tilted his own head, mirroring me. “You make me believe that I can live, John.”

My name . . .

Yora always said my name when he was serious about something. ‘Mr. Detective’ was only a nickname he could use when he felt mischievous.

A new goal of mine was to make sure he’d use my name more often than anything else.

“Good.” I said, following Frederic. “Don’t even think of dying.”

He chuckled softly, running his gloved hands through his hair, to push back his bangs, revealing his green eyes more. “ . . . yes sir.”

What had I gotten myself into? It was too much.

I at least had an outsider’s perspective. That gave me an edge. I was not biased towards any members of the family either. I could make it work to my advantage.

I had to remember that, which was difficult enough with the close presence of those cigarettes that were apparently meant to do the exact opposite. And here was the man who had made them in the first place—my roommate.

His words were worrying me greatly, and they would continue to do so. I had to keep all of them alive in order for my plan to work. I needed to have all of the family members present, to study each possible subject one by one, to understand their dynamics.

That was what the professor had done, and so that was what I had to do now. I just had to be quicker.

I forced myself not to look at Yora. I usually did that when I felt uneasy, like an answer would be found in him.

Again, it was only my anxiety driving me to do that. Nothing more.

We had to work efficiently, and professionally . . .

Otherwise no one would survive this.