The basement felt smaller than ever, shadows stretching across the walls as the killer lingered near the corner. His knife rested at his side now, though the tension in the room was far from gone.
I kept my posture relaxed, leaning against the cold wall, letting my legs stretch lazily in front of me. I smiled faintly to James as he shifted nervously, whispering, "We should check that corner again…"
"Later," I murmured softly, letting my voice trail like it was meant for him alone, though I knew the killer's sharp gaze would pick it up. A flicker of interest passed over him, just enough for me to notice.
Clara fidgeted beside me, tugging at her sleeves. "I… I don't know how long I can stay like this."
I shrugged slightly, letting it seem casual. "Patience is a skill," I said, voice soft, almost bored. But the subtle emphasis on skill wasn't for her—it was a quiet nod to the killer, a suggestion he'd recognize, something only he would notice in the way I lingered on the word.
Victor's eyes swept the room, restless. "We can't just sit here forever. He's waiting for us to break."
I leaned closer to him, whispering just under my breath, "Sometimes the one who waits… has more control than the one who acts." My gaze flicked ever so slightly toward the killer. His jaw stiffened, a muscle twitching in his cheek. That was enough.
No one else noticed. James shifted again, muttering about the door. Clara's fingers twitched nervously. They were consumed by fear. They didn't see the tiny dance I was starting, invisible but powerful.
The killer moved closer, knife glinting faintly, though his eyes lingered on me longer than anyone else. "You speak differently," he said, voice low. "Not afraid… not naive."
I smiled faintly, tilting my head. "I just try to understand," I said casually, shrugging as if it were nothing. Yet the inflection, the pause, the deliberate calm—it was all designed to be noticed by him, to whisper something only he would recognize.
Clara glanced at me, frowning. "You… you seem too calm. Don't you feel… scared?"
I laughed softly, letting it sound airy and dismissive. "Fear is obvious," I said. "Sometimes it's better to keep it buried." My eyes flicked subtly to the killer again, just enough that he felt the intention, the suggestion, without anyone else realizing. His hand twitched near the knife, a flicker of emotion breaking his usual composed demeanor.
Victor frowned. "You make it sound easy."
I shrugged. "Sometimes it's the ones who look like they're doing nothing… who are actually moving the most."
The killer's gaze sharpened. I caught it out of the corner of my eye—a brief pause, a silent acknowledgment that he understood the layered meaning behind my words. And the others? Completely oblivious.
I let the silence stretch, keeping my posture relaxed. In truth, my heart was hammering. Every moment was a gamble. But this tiny thread, this subtle connection, could become my leverage.
And I would make sure to pull it at the right moment.
The others squirmed, whispered nervously among themselves, completely unaware that a delicate, dangerous game was already in motion—and that the killer's attention had quietly shifted.
I just leaned back, letting it all seem casual. Just me, Leah, pretending nothing mattered.
But beneath that calm exterior… I was already thinking five steps ahead.