The Master’s Game

My head felt like it was filled with broken glass. I tried to open my eyes, but the light was too bright. My neck throbbed where the needle had gone in.

I wasn't in the Gala tent anymore. I wasn't in the mud. I was lying on a cold, metal table.

"She’s awake," a voice said. It was cold and mechanical.

I blinked, my vision finally clearing. I wasn't in a hospital. I was in a room filled with computer screens. One wall was made entirely of glass. On the other side of that glass, I saw my father.

He wasn't the powerful man from the stage anymore. He was strapped to a chair, his face bruised. Victoria Hale sat in a chair next to him, her hands tied behind her back. She looked terrified, her perfect dress torn and covered in soot from the chandelier crash.

"Dad?" I tried to sit up, but leather straps held my wrists to the table. "Victoria?"

"They can’t hear you, Loveth," the voice came from a speaker in the ceiling.

I looked around the room. A man stepped out of the shadows. He wasn't wearing a mask anymore. He was wearing a simple janitor’s uniform, the kind I saw every day in the hallways of St. Jude’s. It was Mr. Silas. The man who emptied the bins. The man everyone ignored.

"Mr. Silas?" I gasped. "What is this? Why are they in there?"

The old man smiled, but his eyes were empty. "Everyone looks at the Thorne family. Everyone watches the Hales. But nobody looks at the man holding the broom. I’ve been the ears of the Order of St. Jude for thirty years, Loveth."

"The Order?" I struggled against the straps. "Maxwell said my father was the boss."

"Your father was a thief," Silas said, walking toward the glass. "He stole from the Order’s accounts to build his own empire. He used Victoria to get the ring back so he could delete the digital trail. He thought he was playing a game of chess. He didn't realize he was just a piece on the board."

I looked at my father through the glass. He was shouting something, but no sound came through. He looked pathetic. All my life, I had hated him for leaving. I had imagined him as a monster. But seeing him like this small and trapped didn't make me feel better. It just made me feel sick.

"What are you going to do to them?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"The Order doesn't like loose ends," Silas said. He picked up a small remote from the desk. It looked exactly like the one my father had used to threaten my mother’s house. "And they don't like blood on their hands. That’s why you’re here."

"Me? I didn't do anything!"

"Exactly. You are the perfect witness. Or the perfect killer." Silas pressed a button on the wall. A small drawer slid open next to my hand.

Inside was the knife from the library. The one that had killed the Professor’s assistant.

"Your fingerprints are already on the handle, Loveth," Silas said. "The police think you’re a murderer. If you walk out of here now, you go to jail for life. But if you do one small thing for the Order, we can make it all go away. The video of the vault? Deleted. The murder charges? Moved to Cassian Vale. Your scholarship? Turned into a full ride to any university in the world."

My heart was hammered. "What do I have to do?"

Silas pointed at the glass. "There is a gas valve in that room. It’s connected to this desk. One turn, and they fall asleep. They won't wake up. It will look like an accident. A fire caused by the chandelier crash."

"You want me to kill my father?" I screamed. "And Victoria?"

"I want you to take your revenge," Silas corrected me. "He left you in the mud. He threatened to blow up your mother. Victoria framed you. They took everything from you, Loveth. Don't you want to take it back?"

I looked at the knife. Then I looked at my father. He saw me looking. He shook his head, tears streaming down his face. He was begging for his life. The man who had circled my mother’s head in a photo was now crying like a baby.

Revenge. It tasted like ash in my mouth. I wanted them to pay, yes. I wanted them to go to jail. I wanted them to feel the hunger I had felt. But I wasn't a killer.

"No," I said, my voice firm. "I won't do it."

Silas sighed. "I thought you were smarter than that. The poor always have too much heart. It’s why you stay poor."

He turned toward a computer screen. "If you won't do it, then I’ll just have to use the backup plan. The police are outside this building right now. They think Maxwell Thorne is holding you hostage here."

"Maxwell? Where is he?"

Silas pointed to a monitor. Maxwell was in a hallway, running toward the room, a gun in his hand. He looked frantic.

"He found the location through the tracker in the ring," Silas explained. "But when he bursts through that door, the police will see a disgraced rich boy with a weapon. They will shoot to kill. And you? You'll be the 'victim' who didn't make it."

"You're going to kill Maxwell too?"

"He knows too much," Silas said. He reached for a red lever on the wall. "Goodbye, Loveth. You were a great story while it lasted."

The heavy steel door at the back of the room began to hiss. Maxwell was on the other side, kicking it.

"Loveth! Are you in there?" Maxwell’s voice was muffled but clear.

I looked at the desk. I looked at the knife. I realized Silas had made one mistake. He had left my left hand slightly loose in the strap.

With a scream of pain, I twisted my wrist, skin tearing against the leather. I reached for the knife. Not to kill my father, but to cut the straps.

I slashed through the leather just as the door burst open. Maxwell ran in, but he wasn't alone.

Victoria’s father, the Headmaster, walked in behind him. He wasn't crying. He was holding a silenced pistol.

"Move away from the desk, Silas," the Headmaster said. "The Order has decided to change management."

The Headmaster pointed the gun at Silas, but then he turned the barrel toward me.

"And as for you, Loveth... the scholarship is officially cancelled."

He pulled the trigger.