It was nearly 1:30 a.m.
The room remained dim, lit only by the faint glow of the light outside my dorm window. Kara sat against the wall near the door, knees hugged to her chest, eyes open but distant. I lay on the bed, not quite asleep, not fully awake.
Silence was a strange kind of comfort with her. It wasn't awkward. It wasn't empty. Just… quiet.
Eventually, I broke it.
"You always this quiet?"
Kara turned her head slowly, then gave a tiny shrug. "Not always. Just around people who talk too much."
I snorted under my breath. "So that's why you stuck around me."
That earned the faintest trace of a smile. She shifted slightly, stretching her legs out.
"I used to talk a lot," she said.
I glanced over. Her voice was softer than before—like she wasn't speaking to me, but someone in her memory.
"I was loud. Curious. The kind of kid who asked too many questions."
I didn't interrupt.
"I lived in Lahaina, Maui. My mom worked two jobs—she was a nurse and took night shifts at the community clinic. My dad ran a small car repair shop. We didn't have much, but I remember how peaceful it was… the sound of waves at night, neighbors sharing food during storms."
There was a pause. Then—
"Then the wildfires came."
Her words dropped like stones.
"No one was ready. They said it started from a downed line or something—no one really knows. But the wind picked up so fast. We had fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes to run."
She looked away, blinking slowly.
"My mom was home. My dad wasn't—he was at the shop. I grabbed my little sister, Ava. She was only six. We ran barefoot because the smoke already filled the room. I remember my mom shoving a towel into my hand. 'Keep her mouth covered,' she said."
Kara exhaled hard.
"We didn't make it to the main road. The fire jumped. It surrounded us. We hid under a broken culvert by the waterway. I held my sister the whole time. She kept crying that her chest hurt. She couldn't breathe. I told her it'd be okay."
A long pause.
"She died in my arms. Her lungs just… stopped."
She finally looked at me.
"I had burns down my back and my right arm. I didn't even feel them. They pulled me out the next morning. My mom… they found her a week later. My dad died in the garage. He called me when the fire started. His last words were, 'I'll find you. Just run.'"
I didn't know what to say. And maybe that was better.
"I got sent to the mainland after that. I was seventeen."
Her voice were shacking, small tears running through her cheeks.
"They said I was lucky. A survivor. But I didn't feel lucky. I felt like the world had stolen everything and left me breathing as punishment."
A stillness returned.
"I stopped talking for months. I didn't know what to do with myself. Until one day, I read about the paramedics and nurses who risked their lives to stay. Who kept running toward the smoke. I thought… maybe that's how I earn it back."
She turned toward me again.
"So I went to live with my aunt in the city. I got into med school eventually. Top of my class. The professors said I was a 'prodigy.' But all I wanted was to never feel that powerless again."
"So I studied. I became a trauma nurse. Worked ERs. Got certified for emergency field medicine. Everyone said I was brilliant. But none of it made the nightmares stop."
I leaned back against the wall beside her.
That was the real reason behind her silence.
The silence returned.
Kara sat still, her head resting lightly against the door. The silence after her story wasn't uncomfortable… but it was heavy, like fog that wouldn't lift.
I looked down at my hands for a moment.
"…I'm sorry to hear that," I said quietly.
She didn't respond—maybe she didn't have to.
After a few breaths, I added, almost too softly to hear:
"I understand your pain."
She glanced at me.
"I've… been there too. Not the fire. Not the screaming. But the silence that comes after."
Her eyes stayed on mine, waiting.
"I was abandoned. Don't know why. Don't remember much except that one day, my parents were just… gone."
I leaned my head back against the cold wall.
"Someone sent me to live with an aunt. She raised me, fed me, but we were never close. She was kind—but she wasn't them. I kept asking where they went, what I did wrong. No one ever answered."
A pause.
"I learned not to ask. Not to expect anything. Eventually, I stopped talking to people altogether."
Kara remained silent, listening.
"…Books saved me. I didn't have anyone to talk to, but I had stories. Characters who felt pain like mine, who lost people, who got angry, who kept going."
I gave a faint smile and looked up the ceiling.
"They taught me how to think. How to notice things. How to disappear in a room but still hear everything."
Kara whispered, "That's why you always observe."
I nodded once. "It's the only thing I've ever been good at."
She didn't say anything for a while.
I looked at her.
"And I'm glad you were there to pull someone back from death."
Her lips curled slightly—more sorrow than joy.
The silence returned… softer this time. Shared.
Neither of us said it aloud,
but in that room, for the first time in years,
we weren't alone anymore.
After a brief silence.
She spoke once more. "Why did you come here?"
I shrugged. "Still figuring that out."
Kara tilted her head, watching me.
"You're good at hiding."
"So are you."
We sat there for a while longer. No killer came that night. No footsteps. No shadows. Just the stillness of the dorm.
Eventually, Kara leaned her head back against the door and closed her eyes.
"I'm not good with people anymore," she said.
"You're doing fine," I replied.
"I didn't save my family," she whispered. "But maybe this time… I can save someone."
In my mind:
I don't know if Noirhaven offers peace.
I don't even know if any of us will leave here alive in the end of this chaos.
I don't even know if I can stay alive in the end, but I still struggle no matter what happened I'll try to survive and know who made this stupid fucking game.
But now I know something. Everyone came here with a purpose we weren't simple candidate but we accidentally volunteered in this messed up game.