The nurse, a middle-aged woman with a pair of tired eyes that look like they have seen it all, waits patiently. Armani, resting on a bed in the school clinic, is ranting about getting shot on the soccer field, a dramatic retelling of loud gunshot and gushing blood, all while she calmly dabs at his leg with a cloth. When his voice finally trails off, she looks up, her tone is cold and flat. "Are you new here?"

  Armani is puzzled by the sudden question. He mumbles, a confused frown creasing his brow, "Why are you asking?"

  "Look at you, with those earrings and that thing around your neck, just like a girl!" Her voice is tinted with sarcasm, but it carries an undeniable edge of frustration. She shakes her head, her gaze dropping back to the wound. "If a nun catches you with those earrings and that... collar, say hi to detention for me."

  Armani clicks his tongue, his eyes are fixed on the ugly, blood-caked gash on his thigh. Who cares about nuns and detention if there’s a serious looking wound that still oozes blood? "Am I going to be… okay? I mean… I got shot there and… it hurts."

  "To me, it looks like you took a tumble on gravel while skating." The nurse picks up a fresh piece of cotton, soaks it in a dark-colored, pungent antiseptic solution, and sweeps it across the wound. The boy winces, his body tensing. "Don't move. It'll sting a little, but it'll be over soon."

  The sharp, hospital-like scent of the antiseptic rises, tickling Armani's nose. Such a nostalgic smell. A strange trigger pulls at a jumble of emotions inside him. For a moment, a familiar face flashes across his mind's eye: warm, deep brown eyes, a blush hiding behind a scattering of freckles, the bright, reassuring smile of a long-gone friend.

  The nurse presses the cotton firmly against the injury, making Armani flinch, but he bites his lower lip to keep from crying out. The sting dies out shortly. He exhales slowly, he leans towards the nurse in a serious whisper, gloom coloring his voice. "Am I going to die? I mean, there was so much blood!"

  A dry laugh escapes the nurse's lips, breaking her stern character. "If you were going to die, you wouldn't be talking to me right now." She turns, reaching for a juice box from a small, humming fridge beside the bed. "Here. It'll make you feel better." She hands it to him.

  She turns to the small metallic table on wheels beside her, its tray lined with clean, gleaming equipment. She clears her throat, her voice tightening as she slips back into character. "You, boys, are overly energetic. I’m giving you a couple of stitches so you don’t make it worse. Now, look away, drink your juice and don’t move."

  Armani stares at the orange juice box in his hands, he doesn't remember the last time he drank orange juice but the taste is quite nostalgic. The cold carton ignites a memory, a name echoing inside his head: Kevin. Warmth seeps through him despite the nurse’s needle pricking his skin. Kevin’s voice drifts back from three years ago, the one time Armani lost in The Dogs’ Council. He was sitting on a bed in the older boys’ room in the house deep inside the woods, just like now, and Kevin was carefully cleaning the fresh wound on his left hand with an antiseptic-soaked cotton. That cut, now a visible scar on his wrist, felt agonizing then. Kevin, despite Armani's screw-up, wasn't angry. He'd simply given his young friend a box of orange juice, a silent bribe to stop the whining while he worked. Armani remembers the loving touch, the surprising lack of wrath, even though he had really done something awful.

  "I thought you'd be angry at me," Armani mumbled, before sipping the juice.

  Kevin sighed, a tiny smile playing on his lips as he brushed the stinging cotton against the injury. "Well, you beat up a guy and sent him into a coma. You didn't cheat in the game, and you still showed up to face the consequences. You got beaten up, and your money got taken to cover that guy's hospital bill." He looked up, his smile widening as his gaze swept over the younger boy's black-and-blue face. "I'm happy that you didn't frame someone else for your actions, like that one time. You’re manning up, and you're not running away from the shit you do."

  The sheer delight on the older boy's face made the tension seep out of Armani's nerves. Even the pain in his hand seemed to lessen. "So, you're not mad at me?"

  Kevin shook his head, eyes dropping back to the wound. "You got what you deserved. We’re good."

  Armani smiled, his muscles easing despite the fresh bruises from the older boys. That beating was the agreed-upon punishment for losing the game. He knew he'd get his ass kicked for sending a guy into a coma, and he hadn't run. But what truly gnawed at him was the fear of facing his friends' wrath, especially Kevin's, just like that one time when he was ten. He never liked to fight with Kevin or upset him. The antiseptic's sting fades from Armani’s leg, but the ache in his chest sticks around. The cold, tangy taste of the juice takes him back to the tiny, airy house among the tall trees. The image itself smells like wet grass, and his ears immediately fill with birdsong and the soft hum of the riverbank.

  The boys’ house, tucked deep in the woods, was chaotic, loud, and violent, but somehow, it always felt warm. Always, except for that one time when the ten-year-old Armani, fueled by a perverse mix of fun and curiosity, had faked evidence to frame up an innocent boy for his wicked actions. He wanted to see what would happen if the older boys really got pissed. He was close to everyone's favorites at that time—Lazlo and Kevin, who’d soon become the boss and the right-hand man of this small empire the following year.

  After the council ended, Armani stood apart from the chaos, chills poured down his limbs. He knew what was set as punishment, but he couldn't watch. The boy who fell victim to his deception—punished for supposedly stealing money and throwing away all the food in the house—was taking a brutal beating. Armani squatted behind a tree, palms pressed hard against his ears. No one trusted the victim, and because Armani was the closest to the fifteen-year-old Kevin back then, no one suspected him either.

  Jaiden sat farther back, unable to watch someone suffer for his friend’s mistakes. He kept his guilty friend in the corner of his eye but couldn't bring himself to look directly. The young Jaiden felt crippled, frozen. He'd always blamed himself for that day, consumed by the thought that he could have done something, his sense of justice squeezing his chest. Maybe he could have told his friend not to fake the evidence. Maybe he could have stood up for the victim. Maybe he could have told the older boys the truth. Yet, he did nothing. All he could do was avoid his friend for as long as possible.

  Since the usually chatty Armani was abnormally quiet and distant, Lazlo, sixteen at the time, assumed he was weak, that he couldn't handle watching someone get beaten and kicked out. Or perhaps it scratched an old wound for the younger boy, who himself had been kicked out of his sister's house when she found out about his involvement with these boys and their gang ties, fearing they'd bring trouble upon her small family. Lazlo told everyone to give the kid space, claiming he’d bounce back eventually.

  Kevin, however, had a different approach. That night, he marched straight to the tree trunk by the lake, where his little friend sat alone in the darkness. He sat down next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, just as he always did. The dim light from the house barely reached them. Kevin could only make out the side of Armani's grim face.

  "What's wrong with you?" Kevin's voice pulled at Armani, laced with worry. "You didn't come back for lunch or dinner, and you're staying out here in the darkness." The longer the younger one stayed silent, the worse the scenarios Kevin imagined.

  "What happened?" Kevin asked again, his soft tone turning serious. "Did someone hurt you?"

  The weight of guilt pressed down on Armani's tongue, suffocating his words. Kevin shook him, impatience rising in his voice. "Come on, tell me what's going on." But the pressure of Kevin's persistent stare felt even stronger, even more crushing.

  "I'm sorry." Armani sobbed, and Kevin gently turned him, bringing his tear-streaked face further into the faint light. "I didn't mean to cheat in the game."

  "What do you mean?" Kevin's frown deepened, making the younger boy tremble.

  "I cheated in The Dogs Council. It was me who stole the money and threw away the food." Armani pulled the stolen money from his pocket, tears dripping onto the wrinkled bills, and handed them to the dumbfounded older boy. "I'm sorry. I know it was wrong."

  Kevin turned towards the light to count the money, then exhaled intensely. The exact amount. He closed his hand over the bills, drawing a sharp breath, his chest tight. Disappointment washed over his face, and he cursed under his breath.

  "Why?" The older boy's voice was stifled with anger. "Did you enjoy seeing someone else getting beaten for the things you did?"

  The younger boy didn't have a chance to reply. A stinging slap landed across his face, leaving him guilt-ridden.

  Kevin roared, "Don’t be an asshole, Armani. Be a man and own your shit! Don't frame someone else and run away!" His words were like a second slap, sharper and more painful than the physical one. "I thought you'd not turn out like the others, but it looks like you're just another asshole after all."

  And all of a sudden, silence prevailed. Even the buzzing insects and the purring wind died out. The older boy stood and walked away, leaving the younger one alone to wonder what would happen to him now that one of the favorites to everyone in the house knew about his crime. Would they punish him? Would they kick him out? Would they tell others and he'd lose all his friends? Yet, nothing happened. Morning came quietly. Armani watched the chaos over breakfast and the boys starting their usual daily fights; he wasn't kicked out or punished as he'd feared, and Jaiden seemed more open to chitchat with him.

  An hour or so after breakfast, Kevin came and wrapped an arm around his young friend as usual, finding him sitting on a stone in the backyard.

  Kevin sighed and gazed at the bright sky. "It's getting hot these days." He looked down at his astonished young friend. "You ate a lot during breakfast. You didn't have to starve yourself yesterday."

  Armani hesitated, but gave him a hum.

  Kevin gulped and looked away, pulling his young friend closer, tightening the one-sided hug. "I hope your face didn't hurt. I didn't mean to slap you hard. I was just... angry, because I never thought you'd do something like that. I know you're not a bad guy after all."

  "I'm sorry," Armani whispered, his gaze dropping to his dirty shoes. His chest was still heavy with guilt. "Can't we bring that guy back?"

  "We can't bring him back because then everyone would know that you framed him," Kevin said. "I searched for him yesterday and found him nearby. I dealt with him."

  Armani looked up at his friend, his eyes wide with curiosity. "What did you do?"

  Kevin exhaled, a smile spreading on his face. "I found a better place for him. He's all good now."

  "Really? Where?"

  Kevin looked down and caught the flicker of hope in his friend's eyes. His smile got wider. "Why don't we go play with the others? I heard they're divided into two teams and need more players."

  Mentioning that game this morning triggered a tsunami of memories. Armani can't deny how much he misses Kevin, Lazlo, and all the boys in that tiny house in the woods. Especially Kevin, who meant everything to him, who was more than a friend, and not less than family. But everything shattered after Bryan Black—ironically, a white guy—and his mob barged into their lives. Last year, the police swarmed the boys' house, arresting everyone, except Armani and Jaiden, who were staying at Bryan’s hideout on the outskirts of their village. Since that day, no one knows anything about Kevin, Lazlo or anyone who used to stay at that house. And since that day, Armani feels like he's lost a piece of his soul.

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  That asshole Bryan. He has to know something about the boys' whereabouts, at least which jail they were taken to, but he never speaks about it. Although the man occasionally looks decent, he’s terrifying when he’s planning something. It's unsettling how everyone who works for Bryan seems to vanish in a strange way. And now, here they are, another five teens stuck in a school far away in the mountains, and one of them nearly died after lunch. Armani draws in a deep breath, he won't let Bryan take away Kevin and get rid of him easily.

  The nurse's rough voice cuts through Armani's thoughts. She finishes wrapping his thigh in sterile gauze. "You're good to go, young man. Whether you fell down on gravel or actually got shot." She looks up, her eyes narrowing. "Keep it dry, and rest as much as possible. Come back after three days to check on the wound."

  Of course, no one believes him. Especially since his friends refuse to give the bullet to any adult, claiming that if they hand over the evidence, no one will ever find out who shot him.

  Armani exhales sharply, sinking deeper into the bed. It's fascinating how this isn't a typical nurse's office at all; it's more like a mini-hospital, probably because the school is so isolated from any real medical facilities.

  The nurse stands, wheeling the metallic chair to the corner. "I'm going to inform Sister Philips about this incident and see what she can do about it." She tosses the used cotton and syringe into a waste bin, along with the gloves she’s used. "Your friends are in the waiting room. I'll let them in, and they can help you walk out."

  She's just about to leave when her eyes snag on the bandages wrapped around Armani's right wrist. She stops, a question forming on her lips, but before she can voice it, the boy flashes her a small, grateful smile.

  "It's just an ugly scar I don't want to show."

  She nods, a quiet "Oh" escaping her, then turns and exits the room.

  His friends dash into the room, relief flooding their faces as they spot him on one of the beds. They hurry over, blurting questions about his state, but Armani only replies with hums and short answers. Annie and Jaiden plop down onto the empty bed beside him, while Laura settles on the bed to his left. They can't stop chattering about how sweet the nurses are, how cool the school staff is, and how awesome it is that the school even has a mini-ambulance and a medical team. However, Zoey stands apart across the bed. Her silent, judging eyes sweep over them like a judge mocking the group’s excitement.

  Armani abruptly cuts through their conversation. "Guys, I called each one of you during lunch, and no one answered. Mind telling me where the fuck you've been?"

  Jaiden is quick to respond. "I went to buy snacks from the vending machine on the first floor, but got stopped by a really nice nun. She introduced me to the Sprouts Scouts—it’s this farming club—and I had lunch with her and some other nuns who work on the school farm."

  Annie gestures toward her sister, her foreign accent tugging at each word. "Laura agreed with me to meet after our first class. I was taking pictures of her, and then she took pictures of me, and we missed lunch."

  Armani's gaze shifts to Laura, who shrugs with an apologetic smile. "You know, I'm an influencer now with over three thousand followers on Instagram! I gotta update my social media every week. And a phone call will ruin the vibe!" She shrugs again, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

  Then, all eyes turn to Zoey, who states with a flat tone, "Reading."

  "So, y’all didn’t just agree to ignore me at breakfast?" Armani asks, his voice tight, making the air in the room grow heavier.

  Jaiden's eyes flicker to Laura before he speaks. "Actually... we agreed to go to the soccer field to see who sent you the letter, without telling you."

  "But then, when you all came to the field, I got shot, and whoever sent me the letter was not there. Isn't that weird?" When no one answers, Armani presses. "Who else was there beside you? Can you tell me? It must be someone else and y’all are innocent as fuck."

  The group exchanges uneasy glances, each of them muttering, "No one."

  "How can you guys be so sure no one else was there except you?" Armani takes a breath, steadying his racing heartbeats.

  Zoey clears her throat, her voice clipped. "We agreed we would scan the area first, look for anyone hiding. The four of us took the four corners of the field, behind trees, of course. But yeah, no one was there, and it was a stupid plan, because I don't give a fuck who you were about to meet. I don't even know why I agreed to this."

  Armani's eyes lock with Zoey's. He sinks into silence, just like the others, mentally picturing the soccer field, replaying the scene in his mind. After a moment, he asks, "Hold on... Where were you standing again?"

  She sighs, then explains, drawing a rectangle in the air with her fingers. "You were in the middle, supposing that you were facing north, we split into two groups: a group in the south, behind you, and a group in the north, in front of you. The trees weren’t evenly spaced, so we shifted around a bit to find good cover. That's what we agreed on."

  Jaiden shifts in his seat, arms crossed, watching Zoey too closely. His head tilts slightly, like he’s trying to read something behind her agitated tone. She still won't look at him.

  "No, you don't get it," Armani objects, impatience creeping into his tone. "Where were you standing?"

  "Oh, me?" Zoey questions. Armani gives her a nod. "I was behind you, but not literally right behind you. I was standing a bit to the left because the trees directly behind you were too thin. And no, I'm not the one who shot you."

  Suspicion rises in the room, thick and tangible. Each of them eyes Zoey, and she reads it clearly in their gazes.

  "And how did you find the bullet then?" Armani presses. His voice is low, trying to sound casual. He sits up, pushing his palms against the bed as Zoey draws a breath.

  "You fell forward, so it made sense that the bullet would go in the same direction." She says, as if it's common sense. "And by the way, if you think I'm the one who shot you, then you're dumb. If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't miss." An arrogant chuckle escapes her black mask.

  Still, the suspicion in their eyes lingers. She scoffs, her voice sharp now. "It's funny how you're suspecting me—the one who couldn't smuggle any weapon in here, not even a pocketknife—when there's Annie and her big pink gun. She was literally talking about it during breakfast and none of you gave a fuck!"

  Gasps ripple through the room. All eyes snap to Annie, who shivers, visibly crumbling under the sudden weight of their uncomfortable stares. She gulps. "I... I didn't shoot...it..." She stutters, the suspicion in their judging eyes stabbing her in the chest, making it hard to breathe. "It was not me. I swear!"

  Armani's voice drops, serious, heavy on Annie. "You smuggled that big ass gun into this school? And no one noticed?”

  Her voice cracks as her eyes beg the others to believe her. "I mean, no one said me... no don't bring..."

  Laura steps in, her tone softening slightly for her sister. "Annie, calm down. Did you bring your gun in here?"

  Annie nods, her eyes unable to escape the intense gaze of her boyfriend.

  "And you brought it in here because no one told you that weapons are not allowed at school, right?" Laura's question sounds less like an inquiry and more like a statement, a reading of the situation. Annie nods again.

  Zoey sneers. "School shootings became so normal that she didn't know weapons are prohibited in schools."

  Annie’s voice cracks. "But… Katya is in my room all this time… I never even open the guitar case she's in." She looks to Armani, who still seems unconvinced.

  Laura steps in, acting like her sister's lawyer. "She can’t drag that monster of a gun out without someone noticing. So, this means Annie wasn't the one who shot him." She turns to Zoey, a hint of challenge in her grey eyes. She flashes a tiny smile, stressing every word. "And Annie doesn't miss either. If she wants to kill somebody, they'd be dead by now."

  Zoey gazes at the sudden change of Laura's attitude, eyes narrowing as they fall on the shorter girl. The way she looks down at Laura holds a hint of disdain, though the latter probably dismisses it as a height issue. Zoey's voice is soft, but cutting. Her finger points to Armani. "Then maybe this motherfucker asked someone to shoot him just to stir up drama.”

  "Bitch, I'm not that sick!" Armani objects. If not for the fresh injury in his thigh, he might've launched himself off the bed.

  "Bitch, You are that sick." Zoey mocks him, imitating the depth of his voice.

  Jaiden jumps between the bed and Zoey, hands raised. "Enough! This is insane. We’re friends. No one here shot Armani, okay?"

  Annie clings to those words. "Yes! Friends! We don’t hurt each other!”

  Laura sighs, her gaze drifts to Armani. "Jaiden’s right… there must’ve been someone else. Someone hiding, and we didn’t see them."

  Zoey frowns, her confusion evident between the black strands of her bangs as she eyes Laura, but she says nothing.

  Laura continues, her eyes locked with the injured boy. Her voice is calm, but there's a tinge of violence simmering in it. "Friends don't betray each other. They don't shoot each other behind their backs."

  "Friends? Oh, come on! We barely know each other. If it wasn’t for Bryan’s dirty work or that trash part time job at Riley’s, we’d never even meet." Armani laughs bitterly, and all hope and warmth drain from the room; the air suddenly grows cold and thick.

  "And you," his finger sweeps between Annie and Laura. "You’re both adopted by Mrs. Fox. Your relationship is fake too!"

  He spits, the words laced with disgust. "I'm sick of acting like we're friends, and we care for each other, and all this bullshit! You think I believe no one here would kill for money? Someone already tried!" He draws in a breath. "I know this is a setup. I'm sure one of you is up to killing me."

  Laura snaps back, her face flushing. "After all we did to get you here! You really think we tried to kill you?"

  "Hold on!" Zoey takes a step towards the bed, raising both her hands. Her voice is calm. "This is Bryan’s setup."

  She takes a breath, her eyes sweeping over their surprised face. "He wants us to turn against each other. He’d bribe someone to cause drama between his friends. Then that person would kill everyone, one by one, until there’s no one left except them. In the end, Bryan would kill that person, and the whole group would be gone. I have known him since I was a kid, and I’m telling you that’s how he always works. It all makes sense now. He wants to get rid of us."

  "How can you be so sure?" asks Jaiden.

  Zoey pulls Hunter’s notebook from her coat and flips through the pages. "That virus is actually a poison. Bryan is a chemist, and Hunter is a microbiologist. Bryan doesn’t even know how to infect someone with common cold, let alone make a mini pandemic."

  She shows them pages filled with incomprehensible notes and neat sketches scribbled by her brother. "Look. Hunter hasn’t made a waterborne virus in the past six months. I was sure that something was off when he said we had to pour those tiny bottles into the water tanks. And this leaves us with the possibility that if we didn't get killed by someone in this place, we'd die from poisoning."

  The group is silent, trying to catch anything from the pages Zoey is showing them. They squint at the neat handwriting, trying to make sense of it, but it’s all science gibberish.

  Armani frowns. "I don't get it."

  She closes the notebook, looking into the injured boy’s eyes. "Look, I agree that someone among us was trying to kill you, and that we are not friends. But I’m not saying you’re the victim here. We all are victims here—except one. Because I’m sure whoever tried to kill you will kill the rest of us."

  A shiver runs down each of their spines. The air feels colder than it should.

  Annie’s weak voice sneaks in. "What does that mean?"

  Zoey’s eyes are still locked with Armani’s. "You know how Bryan loves turning people against each other before getting rid of them. He always makes it look like they just disappear, not like he actually kills them. I bet you know that."

  Those words strike a nerve for both Armani and Jaiden. They always harbored a suspicion towards Bryan, seeing his guys disappearing one after the other, but the money he provided has made them deliberately turn a blind eye to those doubts. It all makes sense now: how every kid loyal to Bryan was asked to bring in new members and then vanished, or ended up getting arrested like Kevin and Lazlo.

  "Oh god." Laura takes a step back until she sinks onto the bed, her voice trembles. "Does that mean we were sent here to die?"

  "Exactly," Armani replies, "And the killer is here in this room."

  Silence falls. Dread gnaws at the edges of the air, thick and suffocating. The anticipation of being killed sparks the most malicious scenarios in their heads. Annie's breath catches, ragged. "Maybe... maybe that’s not true."

  Jaiden swallows the lump in his throat; it sounds unnaturally loud in the tense silence. "We don’t have to tear each other apart right now. How about we play The Dogs' Council? The game I told you about during breakfast?" A hopeful, almost desperate smile tugs at his lips. "If there’s really a killer here who works for Bryan, it’ll come out. And if not, we’ll at least know who we can trust. As for the virus—or poison—we can lock it up until we figure out what to do with it."

  He turns to his injured friend, who gives him a look.

  "Do you think it's the right time to play games?" Armani mutters.

  A crooked grin spreads across Annie’s face. "Yeah! Let’s not argue. Let’s play games!"

  "Am I supposed to play a stupid game to figure out who tried to kill this asshole?" Zoey spits, her voice sharp with disdain as she turns to Armani. "Just go fuck yourself."

  A slight frown peeks from her bangs. Her firm posture and the way she runs her mouth make Armani chuckle quietly.

  Jaiden turns to her, his eyes pleading. "Trust me. It’s more than a game. It’ll help us trust each other. I mean, if we can’t trust each other now, then we’re already dead."

  She rolls her eyes, turning to the door. "Yeah, yeah, let's waste more time in this shithole."

  "We really have to make sure there's no killer among us." Laura watches Zoey leaving the room.