The phone vibrated again, a cold intrusion against his palm. Gabriel stared at the screen, the anonymous number a stark contrast to the urgent message: "Se você quer respostas sobre o jogo, esteja no antigo prédio de Química à meia-noite. Sozinho. Venha se tiver coragem, novato." No name, no hint, just a location and a challenge. His jaw tightened. Answers. The word echoed, heavy with the weight of the last few weeks. He had stumbled into a war he didn't understand, a game where he was the prize. —O jogo, huh? he muttered, the words tasting bitter. A flicker of the library confrontation with Malik ran through his mind. The way Malik's eyes had burned with a possessive fire, claiming him without a touch, then the brutal kiss. The unexpected jolt. Gabriel’s hand went to his lips, a phantom pressure lingering. Malik’s words, "Você gostou, não gostou?", still clawed at him, a truth he refused to acknowledge, yet couldn't entirely deny. It was a violation, a raw assertion of power, but beneath the revulsion, a strange current had sparked. It infuriated him, this traitorous body that responded to a bully. Then James. The sophisticated charm, the calculated offers of protection, the rose. The way James had positioned himself as a savior, a handler. "Uma jaula dourada com as chaves nas minhas mãos." The memory of James’s smile, smooth and dangerous, sent a different kind of chill down his spine. James promised control, but a softer, more insidious kind. A velvet trap. He paced the small dorm room, the carpet worn thin under his sneakers. Malik, the storm. James, the tide. Both pulling him deeper, threatening to drown him. This message, though. It promised answers. A chance to understand the intricate web he’d fallen into, the rivalry, the hidden history. His aunt Clara’s face flashed in his mind, her suffocating embrace of control, the desperate fight for freedom that had driven him to this university in the first place. He wouldn’t be controlled again. Not by Malik, not by James, and certainly not by some anonymous puppeteer. —É uma armadilha, ele pensou, voice tight. But what if it wasn't? What if it was a third party, someone who genuinely wanted to expose the truth? The thought was a weak tendril of hope, quickly overshadowed by suspicion. Yet, the curiosity gnawed at him, a relentless hunger for knowledge. He needed to know the rules of this game, who was pulling the strings, and why. Staying in the dark felt like surrender. Running felt like surrender. Facing it, even if it was a trap, felt like his only remaining act of defiance. He stopped by the window, peering out into the campus night. The streetlights cast long, distorted shadows. The old Chemistry building was a relic, mostly unused, tucked away on the far side of the campus, near the boundary wall. Perfect for a clandestine meeting. Perfect for an ambush. His heart hammered, a frantic drum against his ribs. Fear was a cold hand squeezing his throat, but beneath it, a defiant spark ignited. He wouldn't be cornered. He wouldn't be a pawn anymore. He had to know. —Sozinho, he repeated, testing the word. It meant no backup, no witnesses. Just him. It amplified the danger, made the risk tangible. But it also meant no distractions, no one else to consider. Just the truth, whatever it might be. He wasn't afraid to fight. He had fought his whole life for his autonomy. This was just another battle. He would go. He had to. --- Gabriel checked the time on his phone. 11:15 PM. He had forty-five minutes. The adrenaline hummed in his veins, a low, persistent thrumming that both energized and unnerved him. He moved with purpose, pulling on a dark hoodie, the soft fabric a familiar comfort. He chose dark jeans, practical and blending into the night. His old, worn sneakers made little sound against the linoleum floor. —Silêncio, he murmured, thinking of the need for stealth. He emptied his pockets of unnecessary items. Wallet, phone, keys. He grabbed his small, sturdy pocketknife, a gift from his uncle, and slipped it into his back pocket. It was a flimsy defense against whatever awaited him, but it was something. A concrete anchor in a world turning abstract. He didn't expect to use it, but the weight of it provided a strange comfort. A reminder he wasn’t entirely helpless. He looked at his reflection in the small, chipped mirror above his desk. His eyes, usually bright with defiance, held a flicker of apprehension, a grim resolve. He ran a hand through his perpetually messy dark hair. He was no hero. He was a biology freshman, thrown into a den of wolves. But he wouldn’t be their sheep. —Respostas, he repeated, firming his voice. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic beat of his heart. The university campus at night felt different, a sprawling, shadowed entity, full of hidden corners and whispers. He had walked it countless times during the day, but the nocturnal landscape transformed it into something both thrilling and terrifying. He imagined the campus security guards, probably bored, making their rounds. He'd have to avoid them, too. This was his secret. He grabbed a bottle of water from his mini-fridge, the cold plastic a jolt against his hand. Hydration was important, even for an ambush. He felt a sardonic smile touch his lips. He was preparing for a secret rendezvous like a spy, when all he wanted was to study marine biology. The absurdity of it was almost laughable, if it wasn't so deadly serious. —Você não pode fugir para sempre, he remembered Malik’s voice in the library. He wouldn’t run. Not tonight. He would walk directly into the fire, if that's what it took to understand it. The idea of being a pawn, of someone else dictating his choices, was a poison in his blood. He had to reclaim his agency, even if it meant confronting the source of his fear head-on. This anonymous message, whether from a friend or foe, offered a path, however treacherous, to that understanding. He slipped out of his dorm room, locking the door with a soft click. The hallway was dark, silent, the other students likely asleep or engrossed in their own late-night activities. He moved quietly, his sneakers barely scuffing the floor. The air outside was cool, crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant jasmine. He pulled his hoodie up, the fabric a shield against the night and against prying eyes. He walked towards the edge of campus, towards the abandoned building, towards the unknown. Each step was a commitment, a challenge accepted. --- The main campus faded behind him, replaced by overgrown paths and older, more neglected buildings. The air grew colder, heavier. The former Chemistry building loomed ahead, a dark, monolithic silhouette against the faint glow of the distant city. Its windows were mostly broken, jagged teeth in a gaping maw, reflecting nothing but the void. Ivy snaked up its crumbling brick facade, giving it a decaying, skeletal appearance. No lights, no sound, just a profound, unsettling silence. Gabriel slowed his pace, his senses on high alert. Every rustle of leaves, every distant chirp of a cricket, seemed amplified, distorted. He could taste the metallic tang of old dust and decay in the air, mixed with the damp scent of neglected earth. His breath hitched in his throat. This wasn’t just an old building; it was a mausoleum of forgotten experiments, a stage set for secrets. —Sozinho, he whispered again, the word feeling smaller, swallowed by the vast emptiness around him. He reached the perimeter fence, rusted and bent, a token barrier rather than a true impediment. A section was already pulled back, forming a narrow, inviting gap. Too convenient. His eyes scanned the area, searching for any sign of movement, any glint of light. Nothing. The darkness felt absolute, pressing in on him, urging him to turn back. His instincts screamed danger, but his resolve held firm. He slipped through the gap, the metal scraping softly against itself. The ground underfoot changed from paved walkway to cracked concrete, littered with debris and broken glass. He stepped carefully, his sneakers crunching, each sound echoing too loudly in the stillness. He hugged the shadow of the building, moving along its side towards what looked like a service entrance, a heavy steel door, half-open, hanging ajar on one hinge. —Tinha que ser uma porta escancarada, ele pensou, a bitter humour sparking. It was a cliché. An obvious invitation to walk into the unknown. He paused, pressing his back against the cold, rough brick. He closed his eyes for a second, forcing himself to breathe deeply, to quiet the frantic thumping in his chest. He felt exposed, vulnerable, despite the darkness. Was someone watching him right now? Judging his every move? This felt like a test already, a psychological game before the real one began. He pushed the door inward. It groaned, a mournful sound that reverberated through the empty corridors within. A gust of cold, stagnant air rushed out, carrying the stronger smell of mildew and decay. The interior was a black void, deeper than the night outside. He couldn't see anything. No light filtered in from anywhere. It was a complete, suffocating darkness. —Alguém está aqui, ele knew. The silence inside was different from the silence outside. It wasn’t natural. It was an oppressive, expectant quiet, as if the air itself was holding its breath. He took another step, his hand reaching out, finding only empty space. He felt the cold concrete beneath his shoes, the air thick with dust. He had stepped into a trap, or perhaps, a starting line. He couldn't tell which. His phone, a tiny beacon of modernity, felt like a useless toy here. He didn’t dare turn on its flashlight, knowing it would only highlight him, make him an easier target. He stood still, listening, trying to discern any sound, any movement in the impenetrable dark. The adrenaline spiked, sharp and hot. He was here. He had made his choice. --- The silence stretched, thick and heavy, for what felt like an eternity. Gabriel stood just inside the threshold, his eyes straining against the absolute darkness, seeing nothing. His ears picked up the frantic beat of his own heart, the blood rushing in his temples. He was a blind man in a labyrinth, waiting for the monster to reveal itself. Then, a sound. Low, distorted, metallic. It wasn't human. Not quite. A voice, filtered through some electronic device, echoed from the depths of the building, bouncing off unseen walls, making it impossible to pinpoint its origin. It was a cold, genderless voice, devoid of emotion, yet dripping with a chilling authority. —Bem-vindo, Gabriel, the voice resonated, each syllable stretched, unnaturally deep. Gabriel flinched, a primal jolt of surprise and fear. The hair on his arms stood on end. He hadn't expected the voice to come so suddenly, so directly. It knew his name. Of course it did. They all did. He was the focus of their twisted attention. —Eu sabia que você viria, a slight pause, then a faint, almost imperceptible click, like a switch being thrown somewhere far away. A single red laser dot appeared on the wall opposite him, dancing for a moment before settling precisely on his chest, directly over his heart. Gabriel froze, his breath catching. It was a stark, undeniable threat. A sniper’s aim. A warning shot fired without a bullet. His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white. —Quem é você? Gabriel demanded, his voice echoing, betraying a tremor he fought to suppress. He hated the sound of his own fear. He needed to project strength, even if he felt none. The laser dot pulsed faintly on his hoodie, a mocking red eye. It shifted, slowly, deliberately, tracing a path down his torso, across his stomach, then up to his neck, pausing at his jugular. A chilling demonstration of power. —As perguntas serão feitas por mim, Gabriel, not by you, the voice replied, the distortion making it sound like a growl. The laser dot moved again, pulling away from him, then sweeping across the darkness, illuminating fleeting glimpses of rusted pipes, overturned desks, shattered glass. It painted a chaotic, desolate picture of the interior, then settled on a specific spot, a broken table with what looked like a small, black box on it. —Você tem uma escolha, the voice continued. —Virar as costas agora e aceitar seu destino como um fantoche, ou... The laser flickered over the black box, then moved back to Gabriel's face, a red eye boring into his own. —...ou jogar. Mas você precisa entender as regras. E a primeira regra é: não há regras.

Capítulo 10: O Desafio da Meia-Noite