The glowing letters beneath Julian’s feet vanished, and new words appeared, sharp and unyielding:

  "Let’s begin. Here comes the first question."

  Gaenna’s eyes flicked toward the constellation map, and she pointed at Thomson. "Let's start with you."

  Thomson stared at the words beneath him, his face going pale as the question materialized.

  "To save a hundred people, would you sacrifice one innocent life?"

  A silence descended on the room, thick with the weight of the question. Thomson’s shoulders stiffened. The dilemma hit him hard—his identity as a police officer, the countless decisions he’d made under pressure, all boiled down to this moment.

  His fingers curled into fists. For a few moments, time seemed to stand still as memories flooded back: a bus bombing case six years ago—his failure to catch the bomber in time. Detective Chandler had been the hero that day, tackling the bomber and saving the passengers, but it had cost him his life. Thomson could still see Chandler's final look, that split second when his colleague realized the price of his decision.

  Finally, Thomson exhaled slowly and spoke, his voice tight. "I would choose to sacrifice the innocent person."

  The room went still, the gravity of his words sinking in. A faint pulse ran through the ruby at the center of the room, and a strange light began to illuminate it from within. A soft glow spread, casting eerie shadows across the room.

  Next, it was Julian’s turn. He glanced down at the glowing letters beneath him. The question that appeared seemed to strike at the core of his professional and moral beliefs:

  "If two patients needed a kidney transplant—one a homeless child, the other a wealthy elderly man—who would you choose to save?"

  Julian’s breath hitched. His calm demeanor shattered. The question hit too close to home. He had spent years making life-and-death decisions, but this question forced him to confront something deeper—the cold pragmatism that defined his choices.

  "I would choose the elderly man," he said, his voice low but steady. "He can afford the surgery."

  His answer was as clinical as it was heartless. Julian had learned to make these decisions over the years, not based on emotion, but on practical survival. The look in his eyes betrayed the unease this choice had stirred within him. It was a pragmatic answer, but one that left him visibly shaken, as though an invisible weight had settled in his chest.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Across the room, Halia's expression darkened. “That’s a child! How could you choose that man over a kid?”

  Julian's gaze snapped to her, his frustration boiling over. "Save your sanctimonious kindness for a situation that warrants it, reporter," he hissed, his voice tinged with anger. “You don’t understand.”

  He turned sharply to Gaenna. "Why are we being forced to answer these questions? Everyone has their reasons. Why don’t you just tell us what's going on?"

  Gaenna’s voice was cold and unyielding. "Because... all of you are guilty. Everyone here bears the weight of sin."

  The words cut through the room like a knife. Guilty? The room fell into stunned silence. The realization hit all at once—these weren’t just questions. This was no game. Someone knew their secrets, their hidden sins.

  The ruby pulsed once more, and the constellation light shifted to Naima. She stood near the door, absently examining her nails, her indifference a shield against the growing tension in the room. But when the glowing letters appeared beneath her feet, her facade shattered.

  The screen before her flickered to life, displaying an image—a girl, swollen and unrecognizable, her face marred by acne. Beneath the picture, a single line of text burned into her vision:

  "Do you remember her?"

  Naima gasped, her breath catching in her throat. She staggered backward, her hand flying to her chest, her face pale with shock. "No! No! I don’t know her!" she screamed, her voice cracking as she shook her head, frantic.

  The others turned, startled by her outburst.

  “What’s going on? Why is she so terrified of that picture?” Michael whispered, glancing at Orion, who stood beside him.

  Orion’s gaze never left Naima as he spoke softly, "It’s their fears... These questions aren’t random. They’re tailored to each of us. They know our sins." He frowned, his suspicions confirmed. "Gaenna’s right—this is no game. It’s a trial."

  The image vanished from the screen, leaving Naima trembling. She touched her face, checking for imperfections, her expression haunted. "If I lose my beauty... I’d rather die," she whispered. “I can’t… I can’t see that face again.”

  The ruby pulsed again, brighter this time, and a low hum filled the air.

  Michael leaned in, his voice low. "You think that was her, before the surgeries?"

  Orion smirked faintly. “Congratulations, Michael. You’re starting to put things together.”

  "What’s that supposed to mean?"

  “It means she’s hiding something. That picture was from her past. Something happened to her before all the surgeries... and it’s clearly left a scar.”

  Michael grimaced, running a hand through his damp hair. "I thought she was just another pretty face. Guess I was wrong."

  Orion's gaze hardened. "Focus, Michael. We don’t have time for your distractions."

  The constellation wheel spun once more, its light landing on Solara. She stood perfectly still, her expression unreadable. Beneath her feet, the question appeared:

  "Do you hate your father?"

  Solara’s lips barely moved as she whispered, “No.” Her voice was so faint that it almost got lost in the tense atmosphere.

  Yet there was something in her reply—a heaviness, an unspoken burden. No one else could see it, but it was there, lingering in the silence that followed her answer.