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The realization calms me.

Steeling myself, I set off in search of others, hoping for a warmer introduction this time.

Halfway down the hall, I discover a room with an open door. Three girls are inside, one lying on the bottom bunk, the other two lounging on the rug with their backs against the desk and the bed frame.

I maintain that it’s impossible to know for sure, but, at a glance, these three seem to be far less likely serial killer candidates than Maya does. For example, none of them are scowling, and I’m almost certain there’s a correlation between scowling and murder. At least, logic suggests there would be.

The girl on the bed notices me first, and she rolls onto her side to get a better look at me. I recognize her immediately as the girl I sat next to during Gwendolyn’s welcome. She has long, fluffy blond hair and eyes spaced widely enough apart to give her the type of ethereal look that a casting agent might describe as “alien, but in a good way.” She’s dressed like she’s just finished a shift at an elite law firm, in a pencil dress with a high neckline, low hemline, and, I’m startled to note, the exact same floral pattern as my childhood bathroom’s shower curtain.

“Hi, come on in,” she says, beckoning, and the other two shuffle around to make space on the floor. “We were just talking about the party later.”

“I heard he might be sending home half of us tonight,” thegirl with the English accent, who’s sitting crossed-legged on the floor, says in a high-pitched, panicky tone. She’s twirling her straight black hair around a finger so tightly I’m a little worried for her circulation, and her thick-lashed brown eyes are darting around nervously. “Have you heard anything about that?”

The last part is directed to me. The Mediterranean-looking girl between us, who has an aquiline nose and curls long enough to brush against the top of her waist, looks to the ceiling until her eyes are whites-only. Apparently, this isn’t the first time this question’s come up.

I slump on the floor and grimace. “Uh, I haven’t had a chance. We just… got here?”

“Well, Kim apparently overheard a couple of the producers earlier, because she was the first to arrive,” the blonde on the bed explains.

“But I couldn’t eavesdrop as well as I wanted to, because people kept talking to me,” the British-accent girl—Kim, apparently—says, in an even higher voice than before.

“Kim, I promise you,” the long-haired girl says in an Irish accent, resting a hand on her arm. “If there is a surprise elimination tonight, it’s not going to be half of us, or they’ve got practically no show for the next two months. And if he is sending someone home tonight, panicking about it isn’t going to increase your chances of staying. Just relax, and whatever happens, happens.” She removes her hand, and turns to me. “Also, hi. I’m Francesca.”

“That’s Skye,” Kim tells Francesca before I get a chance to introduce myself back.

I raise a questioning eyebrow. “Yes, it is.”

“Sorry.” Kim grins. “I knew who all of you were before we got here. I can’t be the only one who stalked everyone else a little bit, can I?”

“I didn’t stalk anyone,” Francesca says flatly.

Kim sniffs and shoots her a resentful glance. “Well, I want to win. So.”

The blonde gives me a little wave. “I knew who you were, too,” she admits. “But I haven’t stalked you. Well, not recently.”

“Glad to hear it,” I say, mildly alarmed.

I’m just beginning to wonder if it’s too late to back out and get out of this lion’s den of possible murderers and confirmed stalkers when she explains. “I was Jordy’s girlfriend before Maya. You were all over his socials for a while, so I know your face. I’m Lauren. You’re rooming with Maya, right? Wanna invite her over? We have some time to kill.”

I don’t mean to grimace. The grimace simply takes over my body, obvious enough that none of the others could miss it. Their expressions turn questioning as one. “I think she wants some space right now,” I say, trying my best to balance not feeding my roommate to the other lions, and not lying. “That’s why I came to see what everyone else was up to.”

“Is she okay?” Lauren asks.

“Is she one of those possessive girls?” Kim asks.

I shift in place. “What do you mean?”

“You know. The kind of girl who sees everyone else as competition?”

Francesca double-takes. “Kim, you just spent the last ten bloody minutes freaking out that you might not win this thing, did you not?”

There’s an impressive air of dignity to Kim as she nods her concession. “I want to win. I assume we all do. But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna be awful to everyone.”

“Ah, so you intend to crush us into dust, but you’ll be nice about it?” Francesca says.

“Yes, exactly.”

Lauren props herself up on one arm and locks eyes with me. “What they’re asking is, do we need to be cautious around Maya?”