"How about a light game of truth or dare to lighten the mood?" Elijah suggested, leaning back in his chair with a casual air that didn't quite mask the sharp flicker of rivalry in his eyes. His grin curved, lopsided and charming, but it lacked warmth. He was already sizing up the others. From the moment he stepped into the room, he had taken a strong disliking to Alessandro—the cocky Italian from the Eagles—and it was worse with Rafael from the Sharks. That one didn't even have to speak for Elijah to want him punched in the face. Smug bastard.
"Isn't our group a bit too big for that?" one of the girls asked. She had a thick Russian accent and wore the Lion Team's gold and black with a kind of practiced disinterest, her brows arched in mild skepticism as she scanned the table.
"Then let's narrow it down," said the Bears girl, with dark curls and eyes to match. Her tone was sly, confident. She was stunning in a sharp way, with features that hinted at Middle Eastern descent and a glint of mischief dancing just behind her lashes. "All five of you Lions, me, Australian boy here from the Serpents," she added, pointing lazily toward Elijah. "The Italian insistent one from the Eagles," her head tilted toward Alessandro, whose smirk hadn't left his face, "and the Brazilian from the Sharks," she pointed to Rafael.
"What's your name?" asked a boy from the Lions—Japanese by the look of him, soft-spoken but with a keen, curious look in his eyes. Elijah had already noticed how close he was sitting to Thalia. Too close.
"Samira," the girl replied, reclining in her seat with feline grace. "From Egypt. Bear Team."
"So, you up for it, Thalia?" Rafael's voice cut through the room, warm and directed. His focus didn't waver. All his attention was on her—too much attention, Elijah noted with quiet annoyance.
Thalia blinked, startled at being addressed so directly. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, shoulders twitching with a slight shrug. "I've never played this before," she admitted, voice soft but clear. "But I don't mind."
Elijah leaned forward, taking that as his cue. "Alright then, love," he said, flashing a grin as he twisted the cap back onto his water bottle. "Bottom asks, top answers."
The bottle hit the table with a loud clatter, spinning fast. All eyes followed it. It spun, and spun, then slowed—wobbling, clicking against the wood—and finally pointed toward Samira. The opposite end landed squarely on Thalia.
"Truth or dare?" Samira asked, not missing a beat.
Thalia hesitated, just a heartbeat, then replied, "Truth."
Samira smiled like a cat with a mouse trapped under one paw. "Have you ever had a crush on someone totally off-limits?"
Thalia tilted her head slightly, thoughtful. Her brows furrowed, and for a moment, it looked like she might dodge. But instead, she said, "The first time I went into a Catholic church, I met a priest who was painfully attractive. I think he was my first non-villager crush."
Laughter broke out around the table. Camden—the Canadian guy from the Lions—actually slapped his knee, grinning wide. "That was wild," he said between chuckles. "It's your turn to spin the bottle."
"Oh? Um, okay." Thalia reached forward, carefully brushing her fingers against the bottle as if it might bite her. She gave it a spin.
It twirled faster than before, the plastic clicking rhythmically on the wood as it rounded the table, then slowed... and pointed right back at her. Again.
She groaned. "Is this bottle against me?"
Elijah grinned. "Truth or dare, love?"
Thalia sighed dramatically, still wearing a half-playful, half-defeated pout. "Truth."
This one, Elijah didn't even have to think about. The question had been simmering just under his tongue. "What's a non-sexual thing that feels intimate to you?"
Her eyes widened a fraction—caught off guard. But then she blinked slowly, and her features softened. "Hugs. Tight hugs," she said. "I'm not a hugger. I'm also not really used to that kind of close physical contact."
There was a beat of quiet. Elijah watched her with a new kind of understanding. "Clean," he murmured, lips curling at the edges. "Spin again."
She reached for the bottle once more, groaning as she did so. "This thing hates me," she muttered, half-laughing under her breath. Another spin—more aggressive this time. It spun furiously, clacked against the table edge, bounced once—then landed. Her again.
Alessandro leaned forward, beaming like he'd just been handed a gift-wrapped opportunity.
He didn't even wait. "Do you like to read, Principessa Greca?" he asked, voice syrupy with accent. "If yes... if you were stranded on a desert island and could only bring one book, what would it be?"
Thalia blinked. There was something like surprise on her face—not in the question itself, but in its... safeness. Still, she chuckled, brushing hair from her face. "I do like to read, yes. I'd pick my favorite book: The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas."
Alessandro smiled wider. "So you like to read?"
"I do," she nodded again. Then her gaze sharpened with playful challenge. "Then which one would you pick, Casanova?"
The question earned Alessandro more than a few stares. Some amused. Some deadly. Elijah's, for example, was practically a murder attempt.
Alessandro didn't flinch. "I'd pick The Divine Comedy, by Dante Alighieri, the complete version with the full story in one volume."
"Very Italian of you, Casanova. A classic—I like that," Thalia said, then grimaced toward the bottle. "If I spin this and it lands on me again…"
The whole table broke into laughter again, the tension crackling just a little lighter. Even the Lions were smiling now, drawn in by the dynamic energy of the group. Thalia, with her natural charm and quick wit, was holding her own beautifully—though Elijah could see the cracks she was hiding. He knew them better than anyone.
She sighed again and spun. Harder this time. Her eyes closed, lips pressed together in silent prayer.
When the bottle slowed and finally stopped—once more pointing at her—she peeked through one eye.
Then opened both.
"Oh come on," she groaned, flopping back into her seat.
But this time, she wasn't answering.
She was asking.
And the bottle pointed straight at Rafael.
"This bottle is cursed," Thalia groaned, dragging a hand down her face in dramatic exasperation. "It's giving interrogation."
Elijah chuckled under his breath, the sound low and amused. Of course she didn't know it was her turn to ask the next question—she'd mentioned she hadn't played this game before. "It's your turn to make the question now, love," he said, tilting his head slightly, watching her with quiet curiosity.
She blinked, momentarily caught off guard, and when her eyes lifted to meet his—those damn eyes, so startling and vivid—they hit him like a sucker punch to the chest. His breath caught.
"Oh?" she said, voice light with curiosity. Then her expression brightened, something mischief-laced lighting her face like sunshine after a storm. "Okay," she murmured with a sly grin, her gaze sweeping toward Rafael. She nibbled on her bottom lip as if truly pondering the universe's deepest mysteries. "Truth or dare?"
"Dare," Rafael said immediately, not missing a beat. He grinned, flashing teeth like some cocky pirate prince, and Elijah's mood soured instantly.
He hated the guy.
Couldn't explain why, exactly. Just knew, deep in his bones, that they weren't going to get along. Ever. No matter the weather or the gods' will. His smile was too smug, his presence too loud, and Elijah could already feel his patience thinning by the second.
Thalia hummed, dragging out the anticipation as she leaned back just a little, reclaiming the room's attention like it was second nature. All eyes landed on her, and she didn't seem to mind in the slightest. "Hold hands with someone for thirty seconds. No explanation."
Rafael's grin stretched wider, like the cat who'd just spotted a canary. "With you?"
She laughed, short and soft, shaking her head. "No, no. Not me. I'm not the biggest fan of physical contact. Besides, the seats next to me are taken," she added, gesturing vaguely. Then her eyes began to scan the others.
Alessandro. Elijah. Samira. All three of them scowled instantly.
She caught it, of course. Nothing slipped past her beautiful eyes. A soft giggle escaped her lips, and she pointed them out one by one, like naming characters in a play. "Casanova, Snakebite, and Cleopatra," she smirked. "Do a rock, paper, scissors round. Winner gets the honor of holding hands with Baby Shark."
Elijah couldn't help it—he burst into a bark of laughter. "Baby Shark" was absolutely ridiculous and absolutely perfect. Rafael, however, glared knives at him.