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I take a bite of my cake.
He's right. The cake tastes like sugared jasmine and powdered sunshine all at once. Sweet, but not overly so. It sends a rush of adrenaline to my blood, pushing my senses, dulled from fatigue and cold, alert again. With another bite, I walk back to Blair and Nikita, who make introductions.
As I dig into the cake, they discuss the layout of the castle. Apparently, Blair and Avery haven't been able to get out of this room since they woke up.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Raphael interact with the other men. He moves like a predator, with a smile full of sharp teeth and eyes prowling for prey. Am I paranoid because of the text? Or is there something off about him?
"...except for Vivre, she can't keep her eyes off Raphael."
I startle at the sound of my name.
Blair throws me a careless, teasing smile that's stiff around the edges. "Have things between you two sparked while we were stuck in this room?"
"Vivre attempted to save his life," Nikita says, playing around with the crumbs of the cake. "That is no reason to trust him blindly."
"I don't trust him."
"Good," She glances over my shoulder, lips pursed in a frown. "What is he doing now?"
We turn around to catch Raphael tearing apart a packet of tea. Almost immediately, a bittersweet scent of roses and dry fruits fill the air. Nikita walks up to him, catches his hand when he reaches for a teapot.
"Do you have a death wish?" She demands. "We ate the cake. We're full. There is no time to waste sitting around and sipping tea."
He pulls his hand away with a gentle twist of his wrist. "Relax. We don't even have a plan yet, which I know you want before we go outside. Why don't you sit down? Rest? Wait for the tea to boil."
"We need a plan," She hesitates. "Fine, we'll sit. No more than twenty minutes."
"Sure."
He dips the packet of tea into the hot water. Pink swirls begin to spread.
Somehow, Raphael ends up at the head of the table. I sit to his left, Blair to his right. I don't know how it happens. Everything that's happened in the last few hours - days? - feels like one giant blur. Did I really see a dead body? Did I really get a text warning me about Raphael?
I stare at the ruby-lined tablecloth, dizzy.
"We need to confront the chef," Blair argues, shifting her chair so it angles towards Nikita. "I want to get answers."
