Nina didn’t cry often. She was the calm one, the moral compass—the girl who knew how to breathe through disasters and get everyone else to follow her lead. But this time, she broke without warning. 

Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a single, choked breath, then another. Nina sank to the floor as if her knees had stopped trying. She pressed her fists to her face, trying to stifle the sound before it escaped.

In a dorm hallway, Joseph remembered someone else crumpling like that—years ago. With his back to the lockers, David slid down as if the world had caved in. Hands over his face—not crying, just vacant, like something had been scooped out of him. 

Without thinking, Joseph had raised his camera. Frame: trembling fingers, overly bright fluorescents, Preston’s laughter echoing around the corner. He never deleted that footage.

Leo moved beside Nina, calm and practiced. He knelt and murmured something only she could hear. She leaned into him and finally allowed the sobs to come. It wasn’t new; it was just rarely visible.

Joseph looked away. He couldn’t stand the sound of someone breaking anymore—not after he’d spent years watching it through a lens, doing nothing.

“We should’ve done something,” Nina finally whispered, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “We saw David fall apart; she was the only one who tried.”

“Who?” Celeste asked gently.

“Sasha,” Nina said. “She was the one who helped his grandma get to surgery in time. Remember? That night, the ride bailed, and David was losing it—Sasha dropped everything and drove him herself.”

Joseph blinked. He had forgotten that. But now it came back to him: Sasha, late to Jude’s birthday dinner, her hair still damp, talking about a hospital with bad lighting.

“And Amelia,” Nina added, turning to her. “You paid for it—the insurance crap he couldn’t afford.”

Amelia looked stunned for a second, as if she hadn’t expected her name to come up. Then she scoffed softly. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly do it for David.”

“You still did it,” Nina replied. 

Amelia’s jaw clenched, and she crossed her arms. “We already apologized to him and never saw him again. There’s no way he did—”

She didn’t finish the sentence, as all the boys looked at each other in silence, not one of them saying a word. 

Max broke the silence. “Man,” he muttered, sinking into the arm of the couch. “If we don’t leave here, what’s gonna happen to the dog shelter?”

Celeste blinked. “You mean the one you donate to every spring?”

“Yeah,” Max said. “The one with the really ugly one-eyed pug that farts every time he breathes. God, he’s gonna miss me.” 

That made someone snort—maybe Jude, maybe Eli. Then Celeste spoke quieter, “I remember every year after this trip… when we go back, we always do something: volunteer, donate, host something.”

“The tradition,” Preston mumbled. “Charity after chaos. Balance out the karma.”

“Do we still get to do that?” Celeste asked, looking around. “After this. After Lena. Sasha?”

No one answered because no one knew. 

Joseph didn’t know exactly when it happened. One moment, Max was still talking about the dog shelter’s strange donation letters, and the next, he was dozing with his head tilted against the armrest, mouth slightly open. 

Eli was the last to give in. He muttered something to Jude about staying alert, then tucked his knees into his chest and leaned into the corner, one eye still half-open. But even he couldn’t fight it for long.

Joseph didn’t sleep—not fully. His eyes shut, but his mind didn’t. It looped: Lena’s eyes, Sasha’s shaking hands, David’s… the red Xs. And always, always, the camera.

They woke to the smell of food. Joseph blinked first. The curtains were drawn tight, but soft golden lights glowed from the dining room. The table was full again—not breakfast this time, but something richer: dark meat and mashed potatoes, buttery rolls, and wine that looked far too expensive to trust. The masked men stood at the room's corners, still as statues, watching.

Max sat up slowly. “Are we… being fattened up for slaughter?” 

No one laughed. Still, they ate slowly and warily. Joseph watched them chew like prisoners too tired to fight through their last meal. Amelia didn’t touch her wine. Leo tried to hand Nina a fork, but she didn’t take it. Preston didn’t say a word.

Then, without warning or fanfare, the masked men approached with clinical precision. One by one, they clasped something around each person’s neck—a cold snap of metal and a click.

Celeste recoiled. “What the hell—?”

“Stay still,” one of the masked men said flatly.

Joseph didn’t move. When it was done, the men returned with supplies, setting them down in front of each person without a word: a small flashlight, a water flask, and a military-grade walkie-talkie. Nine sets. Nine people.

Then, without ceremony, the screen flickered on.

“Good evening, players. Tonight’s game is simple. You will each be given thirty minutes to hide. Once the clock runs out, the hunt begins.”

The word made Joseph’s blood run cold. His fingers fidgeted toward his pocket—subconscious, nervous. That’s when he felt it. Something small. Cold. He didn’t pull it out or show anyone. He simply closed his hand around it and said nothing.

“You may not hide in groups. The device, now secured to the back of your neck, will show us your exact location if you move within ten feet of each other. Trust will be dangerous tonight.” Nina’s hand flew to her neck. 

“You’ve each been provided a flashlight, a water flask, and a walkie-talkie for further instructions—no other tools. Do not attempt to leave the island. Do not attempt to work together.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Because this is not a team game.”

A pause. 

“One of you is a hunter.”

The room tensed. Joseph’s stomach dropped. 

“It’s hide and seek,” the Mastermind said. “Stay hidden until sunrise, and you win.”

The screen went black. The masked men were already gone.

The room erupted into chaos. Max was the first to stand. “What the hell?!” Leo’s hand went to his neck. “Do not hide in groups,” he repeated, half to himself. “It’s too tight,” Celeste whispered. 

“I’m not going anywhere with anyone,” Eli said. “They said we have to hide alone.” 

“Then we do,” Jude muttered. “We follow the rules.” 

Nina stared down at her walkie-talkie as if it might bite her. “How do we know they’re not lying? About the collars?” 

“Because if they’re not,” Preston said flatly, “and we screw up, we die.” 

No one disagreed. The timer appeared on the wall screen. 

00:30:00 

It began to count down. The room broke apart. Some ran. Some walked. Some just stood for a second too long, frozen in the sick realization that they were about to be hunted. Joseph moved last.

His flashlight beam shook as it cut through the dark trees. He could hear nothing but his breath. Everyone had vanished, disappearing into woods, hills, and outbuildings—whatever the island held. When he finally ducked under an old stone wall, his heart racing, he crouched behind it and tried to breathe.

Then—crackling. The walkie-talkie came alive. 

A monotone voice announced: “Message for all players: You are now being tracked. Your collar must not be removed. One of you is a hunter. Isn’t that fun? If someone tries to tamper with your collar, resist. Lost your collar? Eliminated. Caught? Eliminated. This game ends at sunrise.” 

Click. 

Then, almost casually: “One more thing. Trust no one. Good luck.” 

Dead. Joseph stared at the walkie-talkie. Then—another message. Only for him. 

“Hello, Joseph. Those collars? They’re not alarms. They’re time-sensitive bombs.” 

Joseph froze. “Each one has been armed. They will detonate at sunrise—unless they are removed before then. You’re the only one with the tool, inside your pocket.” 

He reached into his jacket pocket. His fingers closed around something cold and thin—a small black key-like object with an LED screen. 

“You know what to do. Insert the tool into the clasp. Twist. Wait for the green light.” 

“But don’t celebrate too early. Once removed, the collar must be discarded within sixty seconds. Or it will still explode.” 

Joseph’s pulse roared in his ears. “And like you know, your friends believe one of you is the hunter. They’ve been told not to let anyone touch their collar. Not even you.” 

“You have six hours. Eight people to save. One island full of guns and shadows.” 

A pause. 

“Good luck convincing your good friends.” 

Click. Silence.

Joseph lowered the walkie-talkie. His breath came hard and sharp in the freezing air. Around him, darkness pressed in like a second skin. They were hiding. Scared. Armed. Isolated. He was the only one who knew the truth—the only one who could stop it. 

But if he reached them too soon, they’d run. If he waited too long… they’d die. And they’d never believe he was trying to help. He looked down at the key again. 

Tick. Tick. Tick.

He started moving.