Chapter 1- The Mansion
I woke choking on roses.
Not fresh ones. Dead. Sweet and sour at the same time, thick in the air, clinging to the back of my throat like mold.
Cold marble pressed into my cheek. I pushed myself up, and the chandelier above swung without wind. Its crystals knocked together, sharp little clicks like teeth. Counting.
Breathing. Too much of it. Not just mine.
Shapes shifted across the floor.
The first to move was a tall man, shoulders heavy, swearing under his breath, eyes bloodshot. An envelope crumpled in his fist like he’d been holding it for hours.
Next, a woman in satin. Spine straight, hands smoothing her skirt over and over. She wanted control, but her fingers shook.
A man in a lawyer’s suit sat up, brushing dust off his sleeves, patting his tie flat like neatness could explain anything.
Across from him, a woman with too much lipstick laughed once—sharp, wrong—and slapped her hands over her mouth like the sound had escaped without permission.
In the corner, a younger woman folded in on herself, gasping, knees hugged to her chest.
And at the far end, one man sat completely still. Head down. Hands folded. Like he’d been waiting.
Seven of us. Strangers.
My hands hurt. I looked down and realized I was gripping an envelope, edges pressed into my skin. Thick, cream stock. My name written across the front in careful, heavy ink:
ELERI.
I dropped it.
“What the hell is this?” the tall man barked. His voice carried too far, bounced off the walls, up to the portraits hanging above us. Painted faces stared down, their eyes too wet, too alive.
No one answered.
The chandelier groaned. Dust sifted down like ash.
“This is a prank,” the satin woman said. Too quick. Too flat.
The tall man gave a hard, ugly laugh. “Prank? You call this a prank?” He jabbed his envelope at the locked doors, the fogged windows. “You think this is funny?”
The quiet one finally looked up. His voice was calm, low. “Maybe it’s not the house you should be afraid of. Maybe it’s the one who wrote our names.”
The air seemed to get heavier.
I bent down, picked up my envelope. That’s when I saw the smaller line under my name. The ink was darker, bleeding into the paper.
I am watching you.
My chest clenched. I looked up. They all had it too. Same words. Same threat.
The chandelier rattled. One crystal snapped loose, fell, and shattered across the marble.
The tall man’s breathing went loud. “Fine. We stick together. Figure this out.” His laugh cracked. “Stick together until when? Until whatever this is eats us? Or until one of us kills the other?”
We all stared at each other then. Not at the chandelier. Not at the doors. At each other. Seven strangers. Seven suspects.
The lawyer broke it with his clipped voice. “Windows. Doors. Resources. Names.” He tapped the table like he was calling court to order. “Marin.”
The satin woman didn’t blink. “Sera.”
The one with lipstick smiled thinly. “Vera.”
The girl in the corner whispered. “Rhea.”
The tall man grunted. “Kian.”
The quiet one said simply, “Owen.”
I hesitated. Just long enough for it to sting. “Eleri.”
The last man finally spoke. “Aris.” His voice was low, certain. He didn’t look at us. He looked at the chandelier, like he knew what it was counting.
We tested the cage because that’s what people do. Pretend we still had choices.
Marin pulled back a curtain. Behind it, a tall window glazed over with fog. He pressed, shoved. The glass didn’t move. “Sealed. Like it’s never meant to open.”
Kian threw his shoulder into a door until his palm split. Blood smeared the wood. Nothing gave.
Vera circled the room, voice gone thin. “We’re dolls in a box.”
“No,” Owen murmured, palm against the wallpaper. “It’s a cage.”
The word stuck. Heavy. True.
We ended up around the dining table. The envelopes lined between us like a row of traps.
“We should read them,” Marin said, too steady, like pretending he had control made it real.
“Like hell.” Kian slapped his hand over his envelope. “You think I’m giving you something you could use against me?”
“You saw the words,” Sera said. “‘I am watching you.’ That’s not a prank. That’s someone watching.”
“Watching from where?” Vera snapped, voice shaking. “The chandelier? The walls? One of you?”
The chandelier gave a long swing.
“If the house is watching,” Owen said softly, “it’ll know when someone lies. And it will punish them.”
That calm voice made my skin crawl more than Kian’s rage.
“Prove it,” Kian snarled. He ripped his envelope open.
The paper tore. His eyes ran over the words. His face drained.
“No,” he whispered. “No one knew that.”
“What does it say?” Marin pressed.
Kian shoved the page onto the table, away from himself.
I leaned in.
July 17th. 2:14 a.m. Under the pier. Rope from your father’s dock. You said the tide would take him.
The words cut the air in half.
Vera gasped. Sera’s hand flew to her mouth. Marin’s eyes sharpened, calculating. Owen blinked slow, like he’d expected this. Aris just kept staring at the chandelier.
Kian’s fists shook. “Which one of you wrote this?” His voice broke on the last word. “Which one?”
No one answered.
The mirror at the far end of the hall glowed faintly. Letters dragged themselves across the glass, slow and cruel.
The smell hit next—metallic. Blood.
Vera whimpered. Marin’s chair screeched back.
The word finished in black strokes:
LIARS FIRST.
Rhea whimpered like a child. Kian knocked his chair over and left it. I froze, every muscle locked.
The chandelier swung once. Twice. Crystals clicked together like bones.
Counting.
Waiting.
The roses still hung in the air, thick and rotting. The portraits looked pleased.
And the word first waited like a promise none of us knew how to stop.
