“They were just here Snake,” the Rat recants. “I was just with them, I swear.”

  We’re in the kitchen. The refrigerator’s stocked full of leftovers and food, and so is the pantry. Cereal, cake mix, waters, soda, fruit, vegetables, meat, anything you could ask for is here, as dubiously off brand they might be. But the chairs are all conspicuously empty.

  The clock strikes nine a.m.

  “For someone who wants to go around convincing people to vote for the Dragon, you’re not being very persuasive right now.” I say.

  “Shut up and let me think!” Rat snaps back.

  I take a juice box from the fridge. It’s grape fvor; at least I think it’s grape, since the box is purple and the juice mostly tastes like sugar. Behind it are a series of opaque boxes, with spiraling, tendriled biohazard icons… I recklessly crack one open to see a red, mystery ooze.

  “This doesn’t smell like strawberries…” I gag, before setting it back. Maybe it’s the remains of the Goat—either that, or just the remnants of someone’s bad cooking. On another shelf below is a pstic container that bears a post-it note in a bulky, well-meaning script—“BREAKFAST FOR SNAKE.”

  “Looks like the Ox made me an omelet.” I sniff it as a palette cleanser. “Hey Rat, where’s your portion? Did he not like you enough to make one?”

  “I already ate. And I’m still thinking; I think with my brain, not my mouth, by the way.”

  “That’s absolutely fascinating,” I reply.

  I gather up some utensils to eat my cold eggs. I slide open a drawer, fish up a fork, and then stare at the gleaming metal knives. There’s twelve forks, twelve spoons, and only ten knife-bdes total.

  “There’s some knives missing here too, like the Tiger stated,” I say. “That’s a little worrying.”

  “Are there?” Rat remarks. “If you’re so worried about it, then why don’t you just take one?”

  “I have a bad history with bdes…” I mutter. Well, I have a hammer in my pocket as back-up, too, so I settle in to eat the omelet, savoring the cheese and salt. Scraping comes from my pte as I polish it off, porcein rattling on the tabletop.

  The Rat sits down next to me. “Aside from the kitchen and the trial chamber, there’s nothing else of interest here in this hotel,” the boy says, staring at my food. “In that case, we can go and check their rooms.”

  “Ingenious. Brilliant. Who else could have thought of such a pn?”

  “Are you always this sarcastic with your friends?”

  “You, my friend, are an ally, not a friend. Two different things.”

  “Are you always this sarcastic with your allies?”

  “Didn’t you try to kill me yesterday?”

  “Didn’t you try to do the same two days ago?”

  Thun thun thun. We canvas the first floor hallway suites, rapping on each door’s number ptes; it’s a long, quiet corridor. The air-conditioning unit gently rattles and our shoes scrape across the rough carpet. I can hear all these things because we’ve completely murdered our conversation, the Rat coughs when we reach the corridor’s end.

  “Look, I don’t need you to sing me a love song or hold my hand. But I’d at least like to make nice with you in case I, I dunno, die,” Rat remarks.

  “Make nice? Who’s being mean?” I ask, stopping.

  “You are, kinda.”

  “If you’re someone who’ll betray me at any time to secure a win, then I can’t be bothered to get attached.”

  He’s no Lily to me: I get in his face, close enough that some of my hair falls on his thin shoulders. But the Rat simply shrugs, and somehow I end up with a mouthful of my own twiny strands.

  “Listen, Snake. The only people who say they don’t care about winning have never tasted true victory, or they don’t know what it’s like to lose what they’ve won.

  “When you introduce yourself, you talk about your hobbies, your studies, your job; all those things like that. Everything that we’re good at; we are our victories and nothing no more. I don’t know how you feel about life, but you must already know that winning’s everything in Mafia too; I see the passion for it in your tired eyes.”

  “You see a lot of things in me. Are you sure you’re not just lonely? Looking for things to have in common with this adorable girl?”

  The Rat shakes his head, disgusted. He bangs the vending machine nearby; some chips leap down into the dispenser and the Rat fishes them out. He rips the bag and pops potato chips into his mouth, crunch, crunch, crack, smack, and the Rat doesn’t offer any to me. How petty…

  “I like that the Ox cares enough to make food for everyone and keep the kitchen clean. I like that the Horse tries to stay positive even in bleak situations. I like that the Rabbit makes an effort to talk even when she’s also tired, and I enjoy that the Dragon is polite and patient with everyone else,” I say.

  “I don’t think that’s an act,” I continue on. “I think that’s genuine. And I suppose if I was forced to come up with something about what I like about you… it’s that you really care about your life and where it goes. It doesn’t matter that much, I guess, whether we win or we lose.”

  The Rat stares at me, thin brows stitched together in an expression of pure perplexity. “That’s not it, Snake.” he murmurs. “Not it at all. But I don’t care as long as you back me up when it counts—just stop giving me your weirdass yuripiphanies.”

  “Hmph.”

  Our search for other pyers is much easier on the second floor: someone almost barrels into us as soon as we leave the stairwell.

  “Sorry!” the Horse calls. She skids to a halt, and makes to step around me, but—

  “Do you know where everyone else went? Outside? In the lobby? We have to talk to them and they’ve all gone missing,” I ask.

  She bobs her head. “They must be at the meeting already. If we don’t hurry, we’ll also be te!”

  Horse is clutching a sheet of fancy stationery, and the Rat peers at the paper. Penned and printed, cold and concise, the note is written as below:

  Meet me in the library at nine fifteen sharp.

  I have something important to discuss.

  Yours,

  Dragon

  “What the hell is this supposed to be?” Rat asks.

  “You didn’t get a note? I thought he slipped this under everyone’s door,” Horse says, chirping.

  “I didn’t see one, but I’m barely aware in the mornings,” I mumble. I rub my open eye, if possible, I’d still like to nap. The Horse, on the other hand, is as energetic as ever, the zippers on her jacket jangling as she nervously jostles her leg. The Rat has his own bitter energy, as he rounds out our group of three.

  “If it were there, I know I would’ve seen it. He’s trying to pull a fast one on us: Horse, you know that guy’s a wolf, right?” Rat insists.

  “Eh…? I guess that’s likely, but…”

  “You’re still not sure?” he mulls. “Unsure enough to let him change your mind if he got the chance to talk to you?”

  “Oh no! I’ll always to support you, Rat.” I try out those words, though they taste a little strange..

  If this were a cartoon, the Horse’s eyes would be in spirals, and between my wry smile and the Rat’’s intense gre, we have her completely overwhelmed. The conniving boy snatches the paper from the Horse’s hands, as she gives a little squeak.

  “We’re crashing this so-called meeting. The stakes will be the same as a trial; and it’ll be us against him for the minds of the vilge. Snake, Horse, come quick!”