Blood Moon Diner.

Writing the Menu

Marcus freezes, pen hovering above the paper.

His smile falters slightly, just enough to notice. Lila leans closer, watching him. “Go on,” she says softly. “Write it.”

He exhales, pushes the pen down, and scrawls his name under The Lover. Lila studies it, tilting her head. “Bold choice.” He shrugs. “Maybe.” Amia claps once. “Next.

The Liar.” Kunle grins and reaches for the pen.

“This is where the fun begins.” He hesitates for a second, then writes a name with confidence. “Perfect,” Amia says, nodding. Fola leans back, eyes narrowed. “Interesting how quickly someone fits a label they didn’t pick for themselves.” “It’s only a game,” Dami mutters. “A game,” Amia repeats, smiling, “is only as serious as you let it be.” Simy angles her phone, recording quietly. “This is amazing. The energy, the tension. Perfect.” Jonah stays in the corner, silent, his eyes never leaving the table. The pen moves from hand to hand. Some names go down with laughter. Others with hesitation. Some reactions are immediate. Some delayed. Each label weighs more than it should. The Coward. The Hero. The Runner. Everyone notices. Not because of the words, but because of the way they land. Elara watches silently. Michel shifts slightly, studying the table. “It’s strange,” he says quietly. “How fast people define themselves by what others decide for them.” She meets his gaze. “It’s just a game.” “Games have a way of becoming real,” he says. Amia claps again. “Enough talking. Let’s finish the list.” Names continue to fill the paper. Each one feels right. Too right. The energy changes. The room tightens around the table without anyone moving. Simy’s camera flickers for a moment. She glances up. Nothing is there. “Probably nothing,” she mutters. The room holds its breath. Almost imperceptibly, the air shifts. The paper sits in the center, waiting. Waiting for the next move. “Done,” Amia says. The list is complete. The roles are set. The game is ready. Everyone looks at each other, some smiling, some uneasy. No one speaks. The silence lingers. Amia finally leans forward. “First challenge. Who wants to go first?” Marcus shifts uncomfortably, all eyes on him. The paper feels heavier now. He swallows. The room waits. His name is called again, but this time there is no laughter. Only the quiet pulse of anticipation.