The Elite ✓

four | master plan

"Is he serious?" Isabella retorted, combing a singular loose strand of her jet-black locks and tucking it behind her ear.

"Apparently so," I muttered bitterly. "Someone can't take a joke."

Lucas hadn't lied, revenge was most definitely near. Especially the fact that it had not only stripped me but as well as the other girls from dinner. According to this note with pen ink splattered all over its surface, dinner would be served once we finished a 'hunt'

A hunt.

And to think that only an hour ago, we were rushing to our rooms deep in laughter, so much that it took our breath away. We hardly noticed the lack of oxygen that had started to consume our surroundings, the feeling of pure joy remained in our systems like we had wanted it to.

A blessed relief was passed amongst our tiny group of seven. We never really did feel close, but in this one shenanigan, it would seem like we knew each other since childhood, breaths coming in quick gasps and unstoppable giggles. Tears edged the tip of our eyes, as we continued to skip.

But as soon as we parted ways, everything went back to how it used to be. Quiet, awkward, weird. Besides a friend or two, we were strangers.

Then, of course, came the note, or rephrased as Lucas' master plan of revenge. It was the epitome of evil, a narcissistic plan poorly designed. That was basically the rhetorical précis of my current mindset.

The note was written in neat cursive, one that had probably taken a person a millennium to write, but again, this was probably the only 'art' Lucas would ever know.

It read,

I hope you enjoy the exciting repercussions of your decisions. I mean, I'm having the time of my life watching the arguably most exciting form of entertainment in existence. Live. The rules are simple. Finish the entire list, and you'll get your dinner. Yes, tonight you'll be hunting for food.

There are five parts to this little activity you've been assigned to partake in. Entering is mandatory if you still wish to be eligible for the title of the Queen of Illea, otherwise, you may proceed to pack your bags this very minute.

Are we all on the same page? Fabulous. Ladies, the clock is ticking.

I lift my gaze up to the clock clipped daintily on the wall perpendicular to us and realize how we only have about two hours until our regular dinner time. Silently, I curse my sense of stupidity before continuing to read Lucas' letter.

The girls motion me to read aloud:

Moving on.

Your first clue,

I like to say that I'm pretty hidden. I'm never the frontal, just one of those people behind the scenes who work their magic. It's my job to protect those vulnerable from hindsight, and with a gun by my side, I do my best. You see, I'm just one of the crowd, and locating me is only the best way to kick of the feast. Curly hair. Look for curly, dishevelled hair.

Rolling my eyes, I place the semi-crumpled note onto a nearby counter and allow the others to sigh one more time before my brain completely loses it, and although I'm pretty sure I'm capable of speaking in a tone that won't cause total anarchy, I freeze mid-breath, and thankfully, Denise takes over.

"Guys," she notes sharply in a tone that tells us she'll be exploding in any moment if this nonsense continues, "Our dinner isn't coming sooner, and what's done is done. Deal with it."

Well, it got the message across.

"Where do we start." Mia sighs from next to me. I shoot her a suggestive look, which we both share a small smile.