(Part I – The Invitation)
It arrived the next morning in an envelope the color of dried blood.
No stamp. No name. Just her locker number scrawled on the front in looping, old-fashioned ink.
Sharon took it out carefully, turning it over in her hands. Someone had sealed it with wax — gold, pressed with a lion and a dagger.
Her heart kicked once against her chest.
The symbol again. The same as the one in the coded book from the Literary Club.
She cracked the seal.
Inside, the card read:
---
You've been noticed.
You're expected.
Midnight. Off-campus. Wear black. Bring no one.
Masks will be provided.
— A Circle of Selective Memory
---
Sharon stared at the words.
Not a threat. Not quite a challenge.
An invitation.
---
Bianca passed her in the hallway a few minutes later. For once, she didn't toss a glare or a smirk.
She just said, under her breath, "Don't be late."
---
Back in her dorm, Sharon locked the door and sat on her bed, rereading the card.
Damian hadn't said a word about any gathering. And he always said something — even when he meant nothing.
This was different.
This was initiation.
She opened her notebook and jotted quickly:
> Invited. Bianca confirmed. Damian silent.
Off-campus. Midnight. Ritual? Test? Performance?
Circle is watching — but why now?
They don't just want to watch me anymore.
They want to measure me.
---
At 11:47 PM, she stood in front of her closet, staring at her reflection.
She wore black — not the ordinary kind. A satin dress with structured sleeves, hem just above the knees, cinched waist. Sleek. Powerful. Feminine, but impossible to read.
Her makeup was minimal, but her eyes were sharp — outlined like armor. Her hair was pulled back into a high, brutal ponytail.
The only thing missing was the mask.
A knock at the door.
She opened it slowly.
No one was there.
Just a box on the floor.
Inside: a black velvet mask with lace trim and a single red gem over the left brow.
No note.
No signature.
But Sharon already knew who it was from.
---
At 12:03 AM, she walked through the back gates of Crescent Grove in silence.
Not toward town.
Not toward the school road.
She followed the path behind the music hall — through the woods that curled like veins around the property — to the forgotten greenhouse.
There were lights inside. Flickering. Low music, like jazz wrapped in poison.
And there were others.
Masked.
Waiting.
---
📌 End of Chapter Seven (Part I)
(Part II – The Game Begins)
The greenhouse should have been abandoned.
But tonight, it breathed like something alive.
Candles flickered in glass lanterns strung between rusting vines. Music curled through the air like perfume — a strange mix of slow jazz, piano loops, and something darker beneath it, like a heartbeat muffled by velvet.
Sharon stood just outside, her mask on. A black velvet thing with lace edges and a single red gem that caught the light like blood.
They were all masked inside.
Bianca was the first she recognized — standing beneath a hanging ivy arch, wearing gold with sharp edges, like a lioness dipped in honey. Her mask was smooth, glinting with flecks of glitter, eyes unreadable.
Next was Ikenna, his tall frame leaning against a glass panel, dressed in black-on-black with a silver fox mask.
Zuri was there too — unexpectedly — but she wasn't masked. Just watching. Her expression flickered between curiosity and concern. She wasn't part of the game. Not yet.
And then… Damian.
He was standing alone near the back, a drink in one hand, dressed in a crisp white shirt under a dark velvet coat. His mask was simple — matte black, with sharp edges and no decoration.
He didn't look at her.
But he knew she was there.
---
A bell chimed once.
Then again.
A third time.
The music stopped.
All eyes turned to the center of the greenhouse, where a circle of chairs had been arranged.
Twelve seats.
Only one was empty.
Bianca's voice rang out, smooth as glass:
"Step forward."
Sharon did.
No hesitation.
Bianca extended a hand. "You were chosen to attend. You accepted. Now, you'll be tested."
Sharon didn't move to take the hand.
"Tested for what?"
Bianca smiled behind her mask. "Loyalty. Nerve. Intelligence. Control."
"And if I fail?"
"Then we forget you were ever here."
Sharon scanned the faces. Ikenna smirked. A few students looked uneasy. Zuri's fingers curled tighter around the strap of her bag.
Damian still didn't look at her.
Bianca stepped aside and gestured toward the circle. "Sit."
Sharon walked into the circle of masked students and lowered herself into the final seat. The others followed.
A masked girl — voice small, clearly rehearsed — read from a black book in the center.
> "The Circle does not ask for obedience. It asks for understanding.
There are no friends here. Only witnesses.
Tonight, you will see. And be seen."
---
The first challenge was simple.
A game of secrets.
A silver bowl was passed around. Each person dropped in a folded slip of paper — a secret, a truth, or a lie.
When the bowl reached Sharon, she hesitated only a second.
She dropped in:
> "I watched someone die and didn't cry."
Bianca read them one by one.
Laughter echoed. Murmurs followed some. Awkward tension after others.
Then hers was read.
The room fell quiet.
A few students shifted in their chairs.
Only Damian reacted — he tilted his head slightly, as if... impressed.
Bianca's voice dropped. "And what did you learn, watching them die?"
Sharon replied smoothly, "That the world keeps moving."
Someone clapped — slow, deliberate.
It was Damian.
---
The second challenge was worse.
Truth or dare — but with stakes.
One boy was dared to strip to his undershirt and lie face-down in the fountain outside.
Another was asked to share the darkest thing he'd ever done to someone in that room.
It spiraled.
But Sharon played smart — saying little, watching everything.
By the time it was her turn, the group had become drunk on adrenaline and cruelty.
Bianca leaned forward, voice honeyed. "Truth or dare, Sharon?"
Sharon met her gaze. "Neither."
A beat.
Then someone laughed — uncomfortable.
Bianca's mask tilted. "That's not how this works."
"I'm not here to follow your rules," Sharon said calmly. "I'm here because you wanted to see what I'd do without them."
Damian finally looked at her.
She saw it then — just for a moment — that rare, flickering gleam of something close to admiration.
Bianca stood up. "You think you're untouchable?"
Sharon stood too. "No. But I'm not afraid of being touched."
Gasps. Someone whispered "Damn."
Zuri looked like she wanted to scream or drag Sharon out.
But the moment ended when Damian crossed the circle and handed Sharon a small object.
A chess piece.
A black queen.
"You passed," he said, voice low.
Sharon turned it in her hand, then looked back up at him.
"I never asked to play."
---
Outside, the air was cooler.
Zuri found her first, grabbing her wrist. "Are you crazy?"
Sharon pulled her hand away gently. "Probably."
"You don't win with people like them. You survive. That's it."
Sharon turned toward her, serious now.
"I'm not trying to win, Zuri. I'm trying to end it."
---
Later that night, back in her room, Sharon stared at the chess piece for a long time.
She placed it beside her sister's journal.
The queen.
Still standing.
---
📌 End of Chapter Seven