Touch The Fire

6 : Whispers In The Game

" It's never just a game when people already know how it ends."

***

"Tina," Tate calls out, "truth or dare?"

I glance at the other girl who's here, still unsure of everyone's names, but I'm surprised when Justine says, "Dare," without hesitation. I tense up, unsure what insane challenge Tate might come up with, but he just dares her to arm wrestle. Simple. Harmless. My nails thank him as I stop picking at them.

Justine stands with Aaron, the guy who got defensive earlier when we questioned the game, and they head to the coffee table between the couches. He's already talking himself up, going on about how unfair this is and how he'll go easy on her. Justine, on the other hand, just rolls her eyes and tells him not to embarrass himself. She tells him not to hold back.

They clasp hands over the table. Aaron looks smug. Justine looks... bored. Like she's waiting for this to be over. Tate counts them in, and I find myself hoping Aaron really does take it easy. Her arm looks like it could snap in half if he went full strength.

"Go!" Tate yells, chopping the air like a referee on a power trip.

Aaron pushes, and nothing happens. His face changes immediately. He tries again, this time using more of his body. Still nothing. Justine is unbothered, glancing down at her nails like she's at the salon, not in the middle of an arm wrestle.

Then, without even trying, she slams his arm down.

"Thanks for going easy on me," she winks, smoothing her satin dress like this was just a warm up. She saunters back to the couch like she just walked off a runway.

Aaron laughs awkwardly and scuttles back to his spot next to Tate. Everyone chuckles. Even Jake smirks as he glances between the three founding families.

But I'm sitting here trying to make sense of what I just saw. Aaron must have let her win. He had to. There's no way someone as slim as Justine could beat him that easily, right? I glance around. No one else looks confused. Maybe I'm overthinking again. As usual.

"Jake!" Justine calls, finishing off the flask. "Truth or dare?"

"Do you even know me?" he says, standing up like he's been waiting for this. "Dare."

She eyes the empty flask in her hand, then at him, then around the room. Jake, as if reading her mind, sighs, takes off his jacket, rolls his sleeves, and moves to the door.

"I dare you to go find Mr. Dumore's liquor cabinet," she says, chucking the flask at his back.

He spins and catches it mid air like it's nothing, earning a dramatic eye roll from Justine.

"And refill that old flask of yours."

My stomach drops. Before I can say anything, Jake is out the door, gone in a blur. I freeze, my brain racing through every possible consequence. My dad doesn't drink often, but he notices everything. Some of those bottles are off limits. And if Jake gets caught, it's not just him who gets in trouble.

A few minutes pass, I try to focus on Dylan and Justine's conversation, but all I can do is stare at the door and pick at the healing scab on my hand, courtesy of a shattered vase and Lucinda. I flinch when Dylan gently rests a hand on my shoulder. Concern flashes over his face, but it's gone instantly, replaced with an almost vacant look.

"He won't get caught," he says a moment later, like he's sure of it. "He's the school's point guard for a reason."

The handle turns, and I brace myself for my dad to burst through, dragging Jake behind him.

But it's just Jake, those forrest green eyes, that smug little grin. He made it.

Tate claps. No surprise there. The others cheer. Dylan squeezes my shoulder and I release a breath I didn't realise I was holding. I look back to Jake's sly smirk, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. They've seemed to darken all together.

Dylan pulls his hand away, and a strange coldness seeps in where his hand was. I continue to pick at the scab hidden in the loose skin between my thumb and index finger, focusing on the pinching pain rather than Jake's eyes. They flick to my hands, then to where Dylan's hand had been. His gaze shifts—but I can't quite tell how.

"Alright," he says, breaking the tension. "Let's get through the rest before someone sobers up."

The game picks up speed. Everyone's loosened up, except me. I use my two passes early, not wanting to trade clothes with anyone, especially not the guys. With the bruises and scabs I've been hiding, there's no way I'm stripping down.

Justine struts back out in Tate's cream slacks and blue button up, somehow making the outfit runway worthy. Meanwhile, Tate tiptoes in wearing her emerald green silk dress and heels, chest hair on full display, but grinning like a model. He twirls, sits, then shushes everyone with flair.

He scans the room. His eyes land on me.

"Clara! Truth or dare?"

My heart skips. Crap. I used my passes already. There's no way out.

"Truth," I say, trying to sound casual.

Everyone groans, disappointed. Except Tate. His eyes light up with mischief, and that grin, the one that spells trouble, curls onto his face.

I regret my choice instantly.

"Do you believe in magic?" Tate rests his forearms on his thighs, the silk dress pulling taut across his knees.

My eyes widen. That wasn't what I expected, not even close. For a second, I can't breathe. Not because of the question itself, but the way he asked it. Calm. Calculated. Like he already knows the answer and is just waiting for me to slip up.

A beat of silence stretches between us before I let out a forced laugh, shaking my head as I toss my curls over my shoulder.

"Are you serious?" I say, trying to sound amused. He tilts his head slightly, confirming that yes, he absolutely is.

"Yeah," he says, voice smooth but unnervingly sincere. "I just think it's interesting, some people say they don't believe in it, but they act like they do. Superstitions, rituals, that gut feeling when something's... off." He pauses, eyes locking with mine again. "So I'm curious what camp you fall into."

My heart hammers against my ribs. Every cell in my body tells me this is a trap, but I can't show it. I have seconds to come up with an answer that doesn't make me look like a liar or a lunatic.

"Well," I say, dragging out the word as I flash a crooked grin. "I mean... no. I don't believe in magic." I glance around at the others, who wear a mix of amused and confused expressions. "Fairy tales are great and all, but I live in the real world."

Tate leans back slowly, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Interesting," he says, as if I've just confirmed something for him. Something he already suspected.

I drop my gaze to my lap, pretending to smooth my dress while my mind races. Why that question? Is he just messing with me, or does he know something?

I look around, hoping I'm playing it cool enough. Most people seem confused. Beside me, Dylan shifts. Justine lets out a low breath, her eyes flicking toward Tate. I can't tell if they're annoyed or confused. Maybe both.

I flick my eyes across the room and find Jake. He's got that same expression, confused, but his eyes... they're brighter than they were before. Burning with something that looks a lot like curiosity.

Or recognition.

Jake's eyes lock onto mine, and I suddenly feel like I've said too much, even though I barely said anything. Tate doesn't push further, thankfully. He just grins and raises his brows at the group, shifting back into the role of party host.

"Alright! Who's next?" he says, clapping his hands once. The tension in the room loosens, even if it doesn't vanish completely.

Rounds start flying again, more ridiculous dares, awkward truths, another round of clothes swapping that makes everyone howl with laughter. I do my best to stay present, to blend in. And for a moment, I manage. My heart rate steadies. My muscles unclench. I even laugh, genuinely, when Justine makes Dylan sing the school fight song in a Scottish accent.

Eventually, though, the flask is empty again, and the room starts to settle. People slump deeper into the couches. Conversations shift to weekend plans. Apparently there's a bonfire party, whatever that is.

"We should probably bounce," Aaron mumbles, already halfway up from the couch. "Before the parents start doing headcounts."

"You gonna walk home in that dress?" Dylan says, holding back a laugh as he gestures to Tate's emerald green getup.

"Damn right I will," Tate replies with a wink, standing and striking a pose. "Confidence is key, baby."

The others start standing, gathering their things and making their way to the exit. Sierra slides an arm around Jake's waist, mumbling something into his ear. He doesn't react.

I wait near the doorway, arms crossed, watching the others filter out in twos and threes into the soft night. The laughter fades into the trees.

Justine slides up next to me, somehow looking taller with Tate's clothes on.

"You okay?" she asks quietly.

I nod. "Yeah. Just tired."

She gives me a look that says she doesn't fully buy it, but lets it go.

Jake walks past us without a word, Sierra still attached to him like a shadow. But instead of veering left, back up to the house, with Aaron and the other girl, Kayla, he goes right. I furrow my brows as Tate follows, silk green dress gleaming in the moonlight.

"Where are they going?" I walk out to the grass, watching their bodies disappear into the dark.

"Oh, right, we all live around the lake." Justine comes back up next to me.

"We as in..." I don't have to say it, I already know.

"The founding families." Dylan turns the light off in the cabin and steps out into the crisp night air.

"So if you ever need us, or just want to hang out," I resist the urge to flinch as she pulls me into a hug, "We're both on the other side." Faint yellow lights flicker from various windows through the trees.

Justine and Dylan to the left of my house. Jake and Tate to my right. Got it.

"Thanks," I give them both a small smile, "I'll see you guys tomorrow?"

"Sure will!" Justine starts to head off.

Dylan gives a little salute, then falls into step with Justine.

I wait in the shadow of the cabin until their voices drift out of earshot. Only then do I let myself breathe. It's quiet now, just the gentle lap of lake water and the hum of the fairy lights still strung along the deck.

I head back up to the house, bypassing the back porch and straight for my bedroom window. Focusing harder than normal, I force the energy to my fingers, extending it to the lock on my window and popping it opening.

Pushing the power to flood my body, I rise up to the second story, momentarily feeling weightless before I slump onto the carpet of my room. My legs ache, my arms ache, and there's a dull throb behind my eyes that no pill will cure.

Closing the window, I peel off my clothes and stand in front of the mirror, studying the damage. The bruises haven't faded. Some look worse. My arms, my ribs, even my back, splotched with deep purple and dull red. Curse my skin for bruising so easily.

The cuts on my hand from the vase have scabbed over, but the skin around them is raw from my constant picking. I look like I've gone ten rounds with a punching bag. And lost.

Pulling on an oversized shirt, I slide under the covers and lie on my side, staring at the wall. My mind replays the night like a looped film, Justine's inhuman strength, Dylan's knowing glance, Jake's dark eyes. Tate's question. Do you believe in magic?

They all acted like it was a joke. But I saw something in Tate's eyes that said it wasn't. Not to him.

Maybe not to any of them.

The unease that's been bubbling all night finally tips over. Something's off. They're not normal. None of them. And I'm starting to wonder if I'm the only one who doesn't know why.

I close my eyes, trying to block out the questions.

But one sticks to my brain like glue.

What if they're all like me?