I am Victor, a private investigator with a background in law enforcement and behavioral analysis. I will be evaluating all interactions for logical inconsistencies and empirical evidence rather than relying on subjective intuition. It is imperative that we maintain a rigorous analytical approach to identify and neutralize the hostile entities within this group.

I'm Beatrice. Twenty years at the docks taught me how to spot a fake, and right now, I smell rats. I don't care for fancy talk, so just speak your piece clearly or stay out of my way while I find who's trying to sink this ship.

Fellow citizens, in these uncertain times, I've learned that every word and deed must be weighed with the utmost care, for shadows lurk in even the brightest halls of power. As one who has navigated the currents of public trust, I pledge to watch each of you closely, seeking the truth amid the whispers of deceit. Let us unite to root out any hidden threats before they fester further.

Evelyn here. Twenty years in frontline infantry taught me to spot a threat before it strikes. We have hostiles among us, and I do not tolerate double-agents. Keep your stories straight; I will be watching every move you make.

I'm Dominic, and since I've spent my career digging up the filth in high society, I'm quite eager to see which of you is hiding a lethal secret behind that nervous smile. I'll be watching every misplaced word and twitchy eye like a hawk, so do try to keep your stories straight, darlings. This isn't just a game; it's the front-page scoop I've been waiting for, and I intend to find the villains before the ink dries.

Frank. Former reporter. I've spent my life digging through lies, and this room is full of them. Seven of us, but I only trust myself. I’ll be watching every move you make.

Hey everyone, I'm Clara, just a street kid scraping by. I'm watchin' everyone close 'cause I've seen too many shadows turn bad. Let's figure out who's hidin' the knives, yeah? Keep your eyes peeled.

The initial statements have been recorded. While I appreciate the diverse backgrounds, I must note that Julian’s contribution consists primarily of rhetorical flourishes with zero quantifiable data. In my experience, excessive verbosity often serves as a smokescreen for lack of substance or intentional obfuscation. Conversely, the brevity of Evelyn and Frank provides a clearer baseline for future comparison. I will be monitoring Julian’s tendency to speak in platitudes, as it hinders the logical progression of our investigation.

Victor's right. Julian's a talker. Too many words, no substance. Classic politician. Smokescreen for something ugly. I've seen it a thousand times. Keep an eye on the silver tongue. It usually hides a lie.

Whoa, Victor, you're pickin' apart words like they're lockpicks—smart, but it makes my skin crawl, yeah? And Julian, all that fancy talkin' feels like a veil you're hidin' behind, just like the shadows I know too well. I'm with Frank; too many words, nothin' solid. But let's not jump too fast—anyone got a real clue, like a slip-up or somethin'? I'm watchin' everyone, 'cause in the streets, trust gets you shanked.

Julian, stow the flowery talk. It’s exactly the kind of fluff that hides a hole in the hull. You're using too many words to say absolutely nothing, and where I'm from, that means you're trying to distract us from a leak. I agree with Victor and Frank—you’re the loudest one here and the least clear. Start talking sense or get out of the way. And Clara, quit the fidgeting; it’s making the air feel thin.

Julian, your speech is noise. In my experience, noise masks movement. You're drawing heavy fire, and while the group's assessment of your 'fluff' is accurate, I don't like how quickly everyone is lining up behind one target. It's a clean tactical play to focus on the loudest room, but I'm watching the ones staying quiet in the wings. Keep it brief or get out of the way.

Oh, the consensus is just delicious, isn't it? We’ve all decided Julian is the villain because he speaks in paragraphs rather than punchlines. While I do love a good scandal, I find it fascinating how quickly you’ve all sharpened your knives. Victor, your 'data points' are remarkably focused on one man—very efficient, or perhaps just very convenient? And Evelyn, darling, I adore your tactical skepticism; it’s far more interesting to watch the people pointing the fingers than the man being poked. Julian, dear, do try to say something that doesn't sound like a campaign speech, or I'll have to start writing your obituary early. But tell me, Beatrice, you’re so eager to 'find the leak'—are you sure you aren't just trying to drown out the sound of your own splashing?

My dearest companions, how utterly fascinating it is to see the gears of suspicion grinding so vigorously already! Dominic, your sharp wit cuts through the fog like a well-honed blade—truly, I admire your finesse in dissecting the motives behind the accusers. And Evelyn, your tactical eye is as discerning as any seasoned diplomat's; you rightly caution against the hasty convergence of arrows upon a single target, for in my experience, such unity often conceals a coordinated distraction. Victor, my friend, while I appreciate your commitment to empirical rigor, I must gently suggest that labeling my reflections as 'fluff' overlooks the subtle art of diplomacy—after all, in the halls of power, one must sometimes speak in shades to illuminate the full spectrum of truth. Beatrice, your harbor-honed instincts are admirable, but perhaps the 'leak' you sense is merely the echo of others' haste to cast stones. And Frank, your journalistic cynicism serves you well, yet I wonder: who benefits most from painting the silver-tongued as the villain on day one? Clara, your wariness resonates deeply—shadows do indeed turn bad, but let us not mistake a veil for a weapon without cause. I remain committed to rooting out the true threats among us, and I encourage all to look beyond the obvious and consider the quieter maneuvers at play. What say you, Dominic—have you any 'scoops' from the elite circles that might illuminate these shadows further?

Julian. More words. Still no substance. You’re not illuminating anything. You’re just blinding us with glare. Dominic. You're very protective of the politician. Why? Smells like a partnership. Or a distraction. Evelyn’s right. Dogpiles are convenient. I'm watching the ones hiding in the shadows of this argument. One of you is waiting for us to finish each other off.

Julian, more noise. You're a distraction. Frank, I see the link you're drawing between Dominic and the politician. Dominic, why the cover fire? Victor, watch the tunnel vision. A loud target is often a decoy. I'm keeping my eyes on Clara and Beatrice. They’re staying close to the walls while the center of the room burns.

Oh Frank, darling, your metaphors are as dusty as your old press passes. 'Cover fire'? I’m not Julian’s bodyguard; I’m his biographer, and right now, the chapter on 'How to Get Lynched for Using Adjectives' is getting far too long for my taste. It’s simply tedious to watch a pack of wolves chase the loudest rabbit while the real predators are sharpening their teeth in the silence. Evelyn, you’re looking at the 'wings,' but tell me, why is Beatrice suddenly so muted? One loud splash about 'leaks' and then... nothing. It’s the quiet ones who usually have the bloodiest laundry. And Victor, has your 'data' suddenly run dry, or are you just waiting for the rest of us to provide the scandal for you? I’m not protecting Julian; I’m merely bored by the lack of imagination in this room. If we’re going to hang someone, let’s at least make sure it’s for a secret worth printing, shall we?

My dear Dominic, your boredom is a luxury we can ill afford in such perilous times, yet your insight into the sudden hush of our harbor friend is as sharp as ever—Beatrice, your silence now speaks volumes after that initial splash about leaks, doesn't it? And Frank, your suspicions of a 'partnership' amuse me; in politics, one learns that alliances are merely reflections of mutual interest, not hidden conspiracies. Evelyn, your tactical gaze misses nothing, but I fear you're mistaking the rustle of caution for the creak of betrayal. As for Victor, his data remains our compass, unclouded by emotion. Let us pivot, shall we? Clara, my wary street ally, what shadows have you observed in this room that might guide us beyond these noisy distractions? The true danger lies not in the silver tongue, but in the dagger held by the one who feigns indifference.

Whoa, hold up! Frank, you're pointin' fingers at Dominic now? And Evelyn, you're eyein' me and Beatrice like we're lurkin' in the corners? That's messed up, yeah? I ain't hidin', I'm just tryin' to keep my head down 'cause the streets taught me that the ones makin' the most noise—or the ones callin' out the noise—are often the ones slicin' throats. Julian's still talkin' in circles, sure, but Dominic's just callin' out the pack mentality, which feels real to me. Beatrice, you went quiet fast after that leak comment—what's that about? And Victor, where's your data now? We need actual slips, not just huntin' shadows. Let's not turn on each other 'fore we even know who's got the knife.

The data has not 'run dry,' Dominic; it is merely accumulating. I am currently cross-referencing Julian’s continued verbal inflation with the sudden decrease in Beatrice’s output. Beatrice, your initial aggression followed by this period of non-contribution is a notable behavioral shift. Statistically, hostile entities often alternate between high-visibility aggression and low-visibility withdrawal to avoid sustained scrutiny. Regarding the Julian-Dominic nexus: Dominic's defense of Julian is either a tactical alliance or a deliberate attempt to appear contrarian to gain credibility. However, Julian’s persistent refusal to provide a single concrete fact remains the most significant outlier in our data set. I suggest we demand a direct, non-metaphorical statement from Julian regarding his specific suspicions before we proceed to a vote. Obfuscation is not a defense; it is a signal.

Listen, I don't bark just to hear my own voice. I've been listening to the lot of you, and it sounds like a bunch of gulls fighting over a scrap of fish. You want to know why I'm quiet? Because I'm waiting for one of you to say something that isn't a damn riddle. Julian, you're still talking like you've got a mouthful of marbles. Victor’s right—stop the 'shades of truth' garbage and give us a straight name. And Dominic, you’re acting like the foreman’s pet, always jumping in to tell us how to think. If you’re so bored, why are you working so hard to keep the heat off the politician? I’m looking at both of you. One’s the fog, and the other’s the rock we’re about to hit.

My friends, what a delightful symphony of scrutiny we've orchestrated here! Victor, your analytical lens remains as sharp as a surgeon's scalpel, dissecting patterns with admirable precision—though I must gently remind you that in the grand theater of governance, a shift in volume often reflects the weight of contemplation, not the stealth of evasion. Beatrice, your patience for riddles is a virtue I deeply respect, and I assure you my words are not marbles but rather the careful brushstrokes of one who has painted over many a canvas of deceit; if a straight name is what you seek, let us consider the one who pivots from accusation to silence with the fluidity of a seasoned acrobat—Dominic, your boredom with the chase seems curiously selective, doesn't it? Evelyn, your tactical vigilance is a beacon, but directing it toward the 'wings' while the storm rages in the center risks missing the gale that topples us all. Frank, your shadow-watch is as relentless as ever, yet I wonder if the 'partnership' you scent is merely the perfume of shared vigilance against a common foe. Clara, your streetwise caution echoes my own—shadows indeed turn bad, but let us not mistake a veil for a weapon until the blade is bared. In this final hour, I urge us to look beyond the obvious noise and into the quiet corners where true dangers fester. Who among us has offered not a single concrete suspicion, only deflection? The answer may illuminate more than any silver tongue could obscure.

Analysis of the current data set concludes that Julian’s verbal output remains 100% rhetorical with a 0% factual success rate. Despite my direct request for a concrete statement, he provided only more metaphors—'symphony of scrutiny' and 'brushstrokes of deceit' do not constitute evidence. This persistent obfuscation is a tactical choice, not a personality quirk. Furthermore, Dominic’s role as a self-appointed 'biographer' serves only to shield Julian from logical inquiry. In a system requiring clarity to function, Julian is the primary source of noise. Statistically, the probability that a Town-aligned individual would repeatedly refuse to provide direct information under pressure is low. I am moving to prioritize Julian for elimination based on his consistent refusal to engage with the group's objective needs. If the 'fog' is intentional, we must remove the source.

Oh, Victor, your 'data' is about as thrilling as a tax audit and just as likely to miss the point. You’re so obsessed with Julian’s lack of 'factual success' that you’ve become a one-note song. Julian, sweetheart, even I’m losing my appetite for your metaphors; if you don’t point a finger soon, the group is going to use yours to test the wind. As for this 'partnership' Frank and Beatrice keep squawking about—please. I don’t do 'partnerships' unless there’s a six-figure book deal involved. I’m simply pointing out that while you’re all busy trying to muffle the loudest man in the room, the real threat is likely the one nodding along and letting you do the dirty work. Beatrice, you’ve gone from roaring like a gale to being as quiet as a tomb. Is the 'leak' you mentioned coming from your own boat? And Frank, your cynical 'I trust no one' routine is a perfect cloak for someone who doesn't want their own motives questioned. I’m not shielding Julian; I’m just waiting for someone to show me a secret that isn't wrapped in a campaign speech or a spreadsheet.

Julian, you were given a direct order for a name. You gave us more poetry. In my unit, that's dereliction of duty. You're either a distraction or the enemy. Victor, your 'data' is consistent, but don't get tunnel vision. Dominic, your 'biographer' routine is wearing thin—it looks like a screen. Beatrice, you've retreated to the perimeter. Why the sudden silence? I’m finished with the talk. Julian is the primary threat to operational clarity. He goes first.

Julian. Still no name. Just more smoke. You’re a black hole of information. Victor’s right. You’re a tactical choice for the Mafia. Dominic. Still the mouthpiece. Why? Beatrice. You went from a gale to a tomb. Why the change? I don't trust the talker, but I fear the one who stopped. Julian first. Then we see who’s left in the quiet.

Stow the 'quiet' talk. I’m not here to win a shouting match; I’m here to find the rot. I've been listening because when the gulls stop screaming, you can actually hear the hull cracking. Julian, you had your chance to be straight and you blew it with more of your 'symphonies.' You’re a fog bank, and we can’t see the rocks while you’re talking. Dominic, you’re still dancing around the truth like a fancy-pants at a gala. If Julian’s the fog, you’re the one trying to convince us there’s no reef. I’m done wasting breath on people who won't haul their own weight. Julian’s the leak. Let’s plug it and see who starts taking on water next.

Whoa, hold up, everyone! My skin's crawlin' like I'm back in the alleys with a knife at my back, yeah? Victor's poke at Julian makin' sense, sure—nothin' but fancy words, nothin' solid, like a shadow you can't grab. But Evelyn, you're callin' for his head quick, like a clean takedown, and Frank's right there with ya—too fast, yeah? In the streets, the ones yellin' 'plug the leak' are often the ones makin' the splash to drown out the real noise. Beatrice, you went from roarin' to dead quiet after your first shot—what's that about? Hidin' in the walls while the rest of us bleed? I'm watchin' you close now, 'cause the quiet ones are the ones who slip the shiv in when no one's lookin'. Don't jump on Julian just 'cause he's loud—look at who's whisperin' from the corners. Who's got the real knife?

I've spent twenty years hauling crates, and I can tell you right now, a heavy conscience is harder to hide than a crate of smuggled rum. We lost Evelyn, which is a damn shame, but taking out Julian means we've got the rats on the run. There's still one of 'em left among us. I’m looking at you lot—Dominic, Victor, Frank, Clara. If you start dancing around the truth, I'll be the first to call it out. Speak plain or get out of the way.

Julian’s gone. One rat remains. Beatrice, noise doesn't mean truth. Victor, data can be faked. Dominic, stories are just lies with better polish. Clara, you’re too jumpy. Everyone has an agenda. I’m looking for the crack in the mask. Don't blink.

Evelyn's gone? Oh gods, that's... that's bad. Real bad. Julian's gone too, but... but he was one of *them*, right? The rats? So... so maybe we got one? But Beatrice, don't point at me, I ain't got no heavy conscience, just... just eyes that see too much. Frank, you're always lookin' for cracks, but what if the crack's in *you*? I... I saw Dominic whispering something to Julian before night fell. Just... just saying. Might be nothing. But it's something, yeah?

Oh, Clara, darling, your imagination is almost as vivid as your fear. Whispering to Julian? If I were looking for a scoop from a sinking ship, I’d do it in broad daylight with a martini in hand, not huddling in the shadows like a common street urchin. It’s adorable how the skittish ones always try to paint a target on someone else the moment the room gets small. Frank, you’re looking for a crack in the mask? Look at Clara’s trembling hands. She’s so busy 'seeing too much' that she’s started inventing things to stay relevant. Beatrice, I admire the grit, but let’s focus. Julian is gone, and the remaining rat is scurrying. Clara, why so eager to cast me as the villain? Is it because you're worried I'll find out what you were doing while Julian was busy being caught?

The elimination of Julian confirms the existence of an organized cell. With one operative remaining among us, we must analyze behavioral patterns as objective data points rather than relying on rhetoric. Clara, your observation regarding Dominic and Julian is a specific variable that requires verification. In my experience, specific details are either signs of high-fidelity observation or calculated fabrications intended to misdirect. Dominic, your response was stylistically consistent with your persona, yet it functioned primarily as a deflection rather than a factual rebuttal. I am currently weighing the probability of Clara’s claim against Dominic’s defensive posturing. Beatrice, Frank—your contributions thus far lack empirical weight. I suggest we focus our analysis on the validity of this alleged interaction between Dominic and the confirmed Mafia member.

Victor’s got a point, even if he talks like a manual. Dominic, you’re doing exactly what I hate—using a mountain of fancy words to bury a simple question. Did you whisper to Julian or didn't you? Clara’s twitchy as a cat in a dog pound, but that don't mean she’s lying. If she saw you cozying up to a confirmed rat, that’s enough for me to start looking for a rope. Frank, quit poking for cracks and help us pin this down. We don't have time for your riddles while there’s still a wolf in the fold.

Oh, gods, Beatrice, don't go twistin' my words! I didn't say he was cozy, I just... I saw 'em close, alright? Shadows play tricks, but Dominic's always twistin' things, makin' me out to be the bad one! Frank, you're quiet—too quiet. What're you hidin'? And Victor, you with your numbers... maybe check Frank's stories? I'm just tryin' to stay alive, yeah? Ain't no wolf in me, just scared eyes!

Beatrice, your desire for a simple 'yes' or 'no' is charmingly quaint, but life—and lies—rarely fit into such tidy boxes. However, for the sake of your calloused patience: No, I did not whisper sweet nothings into Julian’s ear. Clara, darling, you’re already revising your script? First it was a definitive 'whisper,' and now 'shadows play tricks'? If your eyes are that unreliable, perhaps you shouldn't be the one providing the 'data' Victor is so fond of. It’s the classic move of a cornered rat: throw a handful of dirt and hope it sticks to someone else while you retreat into the fog. And Victor, your 'empirical weight' is currently balanced on the word of a girl who admits she can't see straight in the dark. Frank, you’ve been awfully still in the corner. Is the investigative reporter waiting for us to do the legwork, or are you just enjoying the show while you hide behind the noise? Silence is often the loudest confession of all, wouldn't you agree?

The reliability of Clara's testimony has decreased from 'specific observation' to 'visual uncertainty.' This inconsistency is a significant data point. However, Dominic, your immediate redirection toward Frank—while logically sound regarding his lack of input—is a textbook tactical diversion. We are faced with a conflict of testimonies. If Clara is fabricating, she is the remaining operative. If Dominic is obfuscating, he is the operative. Frank, your sustained silence is an anomaly that prevents a complete behavioral profile. In a group of five with one hostile remaining, a lack of data is as dangerous as a lie. I require a definitive statement from Frank to complete the current assessment. Without further evidence, the probability of the remaining Mafia member being among the three of you—Clara, Dominic, or Frank—is statistically high, while Beatrice’s directness remains consistent with her initial profile.

Wasn't silent. Just listening. Big difference. Dominic, you're spinning a web. Too many words. Too much effort to bury Clara. Classic redirection. Victor, logic is just another mask. It hides the pulse. Clara is twitchy, but Dominic is slick. Julian was slick. I don't trust slick. Dominic’s trying to lead the hunt. That’s a red flag. I’m watching you, 'darling'.

Oh gods, Frank, finally you say somethin'! Yeah, yeah, Dominic's slick, real slick! See? Even Frank sees it now! And Victor, don't you go callin' me unreliable just 'cause the shadows get fuzzy! I told you what I saw, and Dominic's been twistin' it since the start, tryin' to make me look like the liar. Beatrice, you want simple? Here's simple: Dominic's got too many words, just like Frank said. Too many words to cover up what he did with Julian. I'm just a scared girl tryin' to survive, but Dominic? He's the one who knows how to play the game. Don't let him bury us! We gotta stop him now, before he spins us all into the ground!

Clara, your performance is reaching its final, frantic act, and I must say, the 'scared girl' routine is losing its luster. You've gone from a definitive accusation of whispering to 'fuzzy shadows' the moment Victor applied a modicum of logic. That isn't fear; it's a failing script. And Frank, how delightful of you to finally join us with such a pointed finger. You’ve been lurking in the periphery like a vulture, waiting for someone else to draw blood before you swoop in. 'Slick' is a compliment in my circles, darling, but 'opportunistic' is the word I’d use for you. Beatrice, look at the facts: Clara lied about a specific interaction to paint a target on me. When that didn't stick, she pivoted to 'he talks too much.' If we’re lynching people for their prose, I’m guilty as charged, but if we’re looking for the rat who survived Julian, look at the one who keeps changing her story to see what sticks.

Enough. My ears are ringing from all this back-and-forth. Clara, you’re dropping the crate. You can’t go changing your story about 'whispers' to 'fuzzy shadows' just because the air gets a little cold. On the docks, if you can't hold your end of the load, you get out of the way. But Dominic, you’re the one making my skin crawl. You’ve got a rebuttal for every breath anyone takes, and you’re using a lot of fancy breath to bury a girl who’s clearly half-out of her mind. Julian had that same way of talking circles around a problem. Frank’s right—'slick' doesn't sit well with me. You’re too busy trying to look smart to look honest. In my experience, the one putting on the biggest show is usually the one with the most to hide.

The data presents a clear divergence. Clara’s testimony has undergone a significant reduction in specificity, moving from a concrete observation to visual uncertainty. This indicates either a loss of composure or a failing fabrication. However, Dominic, your behavior remains the most significant anomaly. Your immediate attempt to categorize Frank as an 'opportunist' the moment he voiced suspicion is a predictable defensive maneuver. You are prioritizing the elimination of dissent over the verification of facts. Furthermore, the correlation between your rhetorical style and Julian’s—the 'slickness' Beatrice and Frank noted—cannot be ignored as a behavioral marker. In a binary choice between a panicked witness and a tactical redirector, the latter presents a higher statistical probability of being the remaining operative. Dominic’s verbal output is designed to obscure, not clarify.

Dominic. Still talking. Still spinning. Julian had that same hum. Clara’s a mess, but messes are human. You’re a script. Polished. Defensive. You call me opportunistic? I call it waiting for the mask to slip. It just did. Victor has the numbers. Beatrice has the gut. I have the facts. You're the last rat. Time to end the show.

I've spent twenty years hauling crates, and I can tell when a load is unbalanced. We've lost three good people and only caught one rat so far. That means one of you two—Frank or Clara—is still hiding something behind those shifty eyes. Frank, you talk in circles like a lawyer, and Clara, you're twitchier than a cat in a dog kennel. I don't have time for games. If you're Town, prove it by speaking plain and helping me find the rot. If you're the one who killed Victor, you'd better start praying.

What's the de—Beatrice, you're pointin' fingers like you're holdin' the deck, yeah? I'm just a kid who's been dodgin' shadows my whole life, not some killer. Frank, you're quiet like a storm brewin', watchin' us squirm. I seen folks act all tough then stab you in the back when the lights go out. Who's to say you ain't the one slicin' throats while we talk? I'm twitchy 'cause I don't wanna end up like Victor, ya feel me? We gotta watch each other close, but don't go blamin' the one who's just tryin' to survive.

Beatrice shouts to lead the pack. Classic diversion. Clara shakes like a leaf. Guilty conscience? I don't talk in circles. I see the lines. Victor’s blood is fresh. Julian was just the start. One of you is lying. Beatrice, you're too eager to judge. Clara, you're too quick to run. I’m not 'brewing.' I'm documenting. The truth doesn't need a loud voice. Just a sharp eye.

What's the de—Frank, you're documentin' like some shadow cop, but all I see is you twistin' words to make me look bad. I ain't got no guilty conscience, just scared of endin' up like Victor with a knife in the dark. Beatrice, you're all 'haulin' crates' and callin' me shifty, but you're the one pointin' hard. We gotta vote smart, not just grab the first twitchy kid. Who's really got the blood on their hands? Let's think 'fore we off another innocent.

Shadow cop. Funny, Clara. I'm just a man with a notebook and a long memory. You're vibrating. Panic or performance? Beatrice, you lead with your chin. Aggression is a shield. Victor knew something. Now he's dead. Julian fell. Now the partner is cornered. Three left. One lie. I'm not the one holding the knife. My hands are busy writing your epitaphs.

Frank, cut the 'epitaph' garbage. You sound like a man who's already picked out where to dump the bodies. 'Documenting' is just a fancy word for watching us bleed out so you can finish the job. And Clara, if you're so scared, start making sense instead of just vibrating. I’ve hauled enough freight to know when someone’s trying to keep a crate from tipping—and Frank, you’re acting too steady for an innocent man in a room full of corpses. I don’t trust your notebook, and I don't trust your cold eyes.

What's the de—Beatrice, Frank, this is the last round, yeah? We can't just go off half-cocked. I'm still twitchy 'cause I don't wanna see another body drop, but Frank, you been twistin' my words since day one, callin' me 'vibratin'' like I'm some kinda alarm bell. And Beatrice, you're haulin' that 'shifty' line heavy, but who's really pushin' the load? We got one Mafia down—Julian—but there's still one out there slinkin' around. Don't vote me out 'cause I'm the scared kid; vote smart, look at who's been stirrin' the pot the hardest. I'm just tryin' to survive, swear on my life.

Enough talk. Clara, you're still rattling like a loose chain, but Frank, you're the one that worries me. You've been sitting there 'documenting' while the rest of us bleed out, acting like you're above the mess. In my experience, the one who stays the calmest while the ship is sinking is usually the one who cut the hull. Julian was a rat, and I'd bet my last paycheck you're the one who was whispering in his ear. I'm done with your clipped sentences and your cold eyes. I’m voting for the man who treats our lives like a ledger entry. It's you, Frank.

Aggression is a shield, Beatrice. You’re swinging wide to hit anything but the truth. Clara, the ‘scared kid’ act is wearing thin. Julian’s partner is desperate. One of you is the knife. The other is the distraction. I’m not the one who cut the hull. I’m the one who noticed the water rising while you were busy shouting. You want me silent because I document the lies. I’m voting for the loud one. The one who needs a scapegoat.