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“I’m sorry about Elwood,” Silas says. “I’m sure it’s going to be hard on Sylvie, and I feel for her. Whatever I can do to help, count me in. I’m tired of the Castaways and their inaction.”

“Thank you, Silas,” Baptiste says.

A bell rings in another corner of the mansion. The meeting has started.

“Let’s see what happens now, boys,” Silas says.

Leading the way, Silas takes us inside. Clement doesn’t even glance in my direction as we walk in. If he can’t see the reality between Jolie and me, then fuck him. Fuck him if he can’t park his anger aside for one moment.

Ha, reminds you of anyone, Fabien?

“Clement?”

It’s only his name that escapes from my mouth as we step through the doorway. It’s a question. An offer. But my friend still refuses to meet my eyes. His silence is deafening.

Yeah. Fuck him.

The Elders are all gathered around the room in a circle, faces down. Nearly everyone who could have made it at such short notice is in attendance. There are screens above beaming in live feeds of other Elders from around the world.

This is the largest Castaways meeting of our lifetimes.

Despite the chaos and confusion and unique circumstances, there are protocols for things like this, and they have been triggered. The Supreme Elder might have been slain, but the juggernaut that is the internal machinery of the Castaways continues to roll.

Everything goes quiet, and then the lights dim. A solitary spotlight hits the center.

Leopold Anguish steps forward.

“The Supreme Elder has been murdered in his office,” he announces.

The room erupts in frenzied whispers.

“A note was left on his body as a calling card,” Leopold continues. “On it were only three words. The Masked Killer. I will now chair this meeting. Let us decide what happens next.”

Another voice cuts through the noise and darkness.

“And you, Elder Leopold, have blocked our investigation every step of the way.”

Out strides Cromwell.

The two patriarchs face each other like twin storms. It’s a clear challenge from Cromwell. Leopold either backs down, or this means war.

And he’s not planning a retreat. His lips curl into a sneer.

“Now is not your time for your theatrics, Elder Auclair.”

His voice drips with disgust.

“Let’s face the facts here,” Cromwell declares. “You’re trying to claim the Supreme Elder’s spot without a fight. Well, I’m not going to let that happen. Someone must stand up to your lies and deception. Your slow ineptitude at trying to find the Masked Killer so far has cost us the Supreme Elder, and now you want to be next in line?”

Gasps ripple around the room.

“We can’t waste another minute on this petty squabbling,” Leopold snaps. “This is a moment for action, not for votes. We can’t waste the rest of today on these processes.”

Cromwell shakes his head.

“That is not how we do things in this Order,” he says. “You cannot anoint yourself Supreme Elder. A ballot must be taken before you claim command.”

“We simply don’t have the time,” Leopold hisses back.