Chapter 3

RHETT

Three more weeks have passed.

And I’ve officially started to stalk my target.

Lucien Ricci isn’t hard to track. His routine is predictable- the kind that only comes from someone who’s always been in control.

He wakes at five thirty, runs alone through campus, attends and smiles through his classes from eight, has lunch with same group at the elites dining hall, plays captain during practice-showers after, dinner- again same location, same group and at night, he vanishes.

Not off campus - he locks himself away.

Inside the West library’s restricted floor where only a handful of faculty have access.

From ten to midnight, the lights flicker inside that wing.

Then, nothing.

He emerges calm, perfect, untouched.

Until tonight.

Because tonight, he doesn’t go there.

It’s past ten now.

The campus is quiet, dipped in that eerie kind of silence that makes the air feel thicker.

Lucien steps out of the conservatory, jacket over his shoulder, moonlight catching the sharp edge of his jaw.

He unlocks his car- an Aston Martin DB11 all black curves and quiet power-and drives off without looking back.

“Well, that’s new,” I mutter, pulling out after him.

My rented Ford Focus hums weakly in comparison. Not as fast, not as flashy- but forgettable, which is exactly what I need.

He turns off the paved road where the trees grow thick. I slow and pull into the shadows, heart a steady drum. Ahead, between trunks, there’s a glow- lamps swaying, tiny flames guttering, people moving like silhouettes.

Lucien eases up to a small cluster of people beneath the trees. They’re in deep red-velvet jackets, red masks - efficient and precise. He then points to something in a medium sized red box on a long, low table that’s at the entrance.

And one of the people hands him a white mask without a word exchanged. He tucks it on like it belongs to him and steps forward into the lane of lamplight.

I wait until he slips out of sight among the hedges before I move.

Up close, the clearing is almost ritual- lanterns hung from low branches, narrow paths cut between high hedges.

I steel myself as I reach at the same table and the people who just gave Lucien the mask look at me expectantly, waiting and watching me.

I look down at the red box on the table and in it there’s a silk red cloth with two porcelain masks inside.

Black and white.

Nothing else.

I point to the white mask since it’s what Lucien chose and someone takes a white mask from the stack that’s probably below the table and hands it to me.

I take it and put it on, heading to where I saw Lucien went.

I’m about to take a step away from the table when a man in a red mask stops me stepping in front.

“Phone and all electronics” Is all hear muffled from the mask as he raises his hand and points to something behind me.

I turns around following his hand when I see another person holding out a small bag marked no. 45

I don’t disagree as I take my phone out of my pocket and smartwatch out of my wrist and put in the bag.

The person seals it on the top and nods at the guy who stood in front of me now moved letting me through.

I walk through the lane and up ahead I see there are other people gathered all wearing white masks, all wearing simple clothes, nothing fancy nor elegant.

They’re standing around as if waiting for something.

Or it someone?

Just then the sound of a small hand bell being shaken rang through the air causing everyone’s attention to shift forward- to what I think are attendants to whatever ritual that is going on.

“The game has began. Please step inside” the attendant said pointing to what looks like an entrance to a maze beside them.

The people in white masks all start moving through going to the entrance and I follow as well not even giving this a second thought.

I don’t understand the game.

I don’t know what the masks mean.

Nor why is it necessary to even keep one on.

I only know Lucien is ahead of me, and that’s enough.

I walk into the maze and the air feels heavier here - humid, charged, laced with smoke and candle wax. The lanterns hanging from the low branches flicker with each passing breeze, painting gold streaks across faceless masks.

No laughter.

No voices.

No sound except the soft rustle of fabric brushing past.

White masks move through the maze like ghosts- slow, graceful, anonymous.

Lucien’s is one of them.

I see the glint of his coat ahead, just for a second, before he turns a corner and vanishes.

I follow, trying to keep track, but the deeper I go, the quieter it gets. The hedges grow taller, thicker, swallowing the lamplight whole.

I take a turn, dead end.

Another turn. Another dead end.

The air feels tighter now.

I retrace my steps, counting each corner.

One. Two. Three.

By the fourth, I realize I’ve been walking in circles.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.

I exhale, planning to head back toward the entrance, it’s safer if I just wait by the exit of the maze.

Though I could miss out on valuable info with Lucien out my sight.

No, no, no

It’s not worth getting caught nor lost in this weird game when I don’t even know what’s supposed to happen in here exactly.

I’ll just wait at exit of the maze and pretend that I was able to get through and did not cheat

I turn-

And freeze.

Someone’s standing at the end of the path.

A black mask, matte and sharp against the glow. His arms are crossed, posture loose but coiled. The dark fabric of his shirt blends into the shadows, the lamplight catching only the faint gleam of ink running from his left bicep all the way to his wrist.