Hugh remained silent. George answered in his place.“No. It’ll be over on the next move.”Hugh pushed himself up, cleared the chess pieces away, and looked at me gloomily.“What class is your next one, Raymond? Want to join me? We’ve got English Lit together. I’m going to study all weekend.”“Since we spent last weekend splashing about in the hotel pool, it’s time to hit the books.”George interjected.“Anyway, George is right. You’re not here to study. Those aren’t even on the exam reading list. You’re planning to go out this weekend.”Hugh stared at me as if he were green with envy. I continued.“I’m spending a night at the hotel. Might as well read while I’m there.”George gave me a meaningful look, which I ignored. Hugh writhed on the floor in envy, moaning, then crawled back to his desk and grabbed the half-finished paper. Without another word, we each fell into our own tasks. Hugh buried himself in his studies; George tapped away at his laptop keys. I watched the two boys beyond the bookshelf.I had unearthed four facts from the photos I’d examined earlier:Two people appeared in the photos.Only one photo showed both of them together.The photos were taken over a long period—at least since more than a month ago.Four or more people had participated in this.First: the two figures in the photos were Jérôme and Simon. Their faces were thoroughly obscured, but their bodies were fully visible, as if daring me to identify them. I recognized one as Jérôme because of the bruise on Person A’s side. It matched exactly where he’d kicked me with his boot right after the stable incident.I recognized Person B as Simon by the hands clutching my face. I’d seen those hands hundreds of times: the hands that treated my wounds, washed me, pulled the blanket up around me, wiped sweat from my brow, fumbled at darts— and of course the hands that choked me and pressed the stun device to my side. Broad, warm hands with higher-than-normal body heat… Simon’s hands.As Jérôme had asked, Have you ever had sex? my first men had been them.Second: apart from that single photograph, no other image showed anyone else’s body—or even the hand of the photographer. They’d surely selected and sent only the ones with no mistakes. Only in the last photo did Jérôme and Simon both appear, because they had assaulted me together.That photo wasn’t taken from a tripod; its angle was crooked, clearly shot by hand. It introduced a new Person C, the photographer. With that image, Jérôme and Simon had declared another game: tag. If I failed to identify Person C in time, they would subject me to another unbearable humiliation—just as they’d tried to kill me at Kelly Bog. But Person C’s identity remained a mystery.Third: they’d been doing this for at least a month. It might have started the very first night I arrived in the dorm. I knew because one photo showed my body completely unmarked. I’d enrolled in April, and the fighting with Jérôme hadn’t begun until mid-May. For at least six weeks after I arrived, my body had no injuries—just like in that clean photo.The steady accumulation of wounds over time showed that the rapes had continued for a long period. The most recent photo—the one with both Jérôme and Simon—showed a red burn on my side from the stun device. It must have been taken last night or the night before.Fourth: whether or not they’d actually participated in the rapes, at least four people had been present. The photos suggested only three: Jérôme, Simon, and the mysterious Person C. They’d implied only Person C, but they’d made one fatal mistake—one they themselves hadn’t noticed. If I hadn’t scrutinized every image, I’d have missed it too.In the final photo, a fourth figure’s presence was revealed.The composition: I lay on my side in bed, Simon behind me and Jérôme in front. Simon had lifted my thigh so the shot framed between my legs. With three big boys on the bed, the mattress sagged and the sheets bunched at the foot. Person C stood by the headboard, camera in hand, careful not to show Jérôme’s or Simon’s faces. Yet at the far edge of the shot, Person D’s shadow appeared. Against the bare wall, it was almost invisible unless you looked closely—but once noticed, it stood out unmistakably. No empty wall would cast such a shadow.Jérôme and Simon must have been so thrilled with that photo—and imagining my reaction—that they overlooked this tiny flaw. Thanks to Person D’s shadow, I knew at least four people had been in the room that night.Still, questions remained. How had I never awakened? How had I not noticed any of this for so long? Even seeing it with my own eyes, it seemed impossible. Had they not sent those photos, I might never have realized.Finally: were Hugh and George completely unaware of these crimes in my room? Though they lived in adjacent rooms in the same dorm, and the photos were taken in my bed… I was no fool. Of course they knew. The real question was: “Were Hugh and George bystanders… or accomplices?”If Hugh and George were accomplices, they were as patient and rational as Jérôme and Simon. Right now, even as we sit studying together in the common room, Hugh hasn’t once looked at me. He’s buried his nose in his books like a boy genuinely worried about exams, murmuring to himself sometimes.To be honest, I know almost nothing about Hugh beyond his love of fun, his many friends, and his cheerful smile. My liking for him was purely because he laughs easily, «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» not because I know him well. It was hard to tell whether he was complicit or merely indifferent.George was different. He tapped at his keyboard, but when he sensed my gaze, he’d look up immediately with that mixture of curiosity and suspicion. George was exactly as he always was: suspicious, dubious. He knew Jérôme and Simon well—he was the one who told me I was “the seventh.” Judging by everything so far, George was far closer to bystander than accomplice. Yet I remained wary. His bystanding wasn’t passive observation but violent neglect. Why did he remain so utterly passive? I recalled a conversation with George:“You act like you know everything.”“I do.”How could he know so much? Because he took part? No… I remembered the strange way he sometimes looked at me. Perhaps George had been my predecessor. He had also said:“Jérôme’s going to eat you alive.”As Hugh settled back into studying for real, George—who usually chatted with Hugh—fell silent too. I lost my chance to observe them; I’d hoped to deduce something from their conversation. Time passed in silence until evening, when Simon returned, sweaty from drama club. He went straight to the shower.When he emerged, Hugh suggested we all go down for dinner. Simon and I exchanged a brief glance; I offered a half-smile, and he looked at me for a moment before turning away. We went down to the dining hall together, ate, and drank tea.Simon said almost nothing. Hugh and George led the conversation, and I joined in occasionally. Throughout dinner, I watched Hugh, George, and Simon—each exactly as before. If they were all in on this, they were cockroaches in perfect sync.Only when Hugh mentioned my weekend plans did Simon finally react.“What hotel are you going to?”Simon, aloof all evening, looked at me sharply. I stared back.“I don’t know. I’ve never been to Goron.”Hugh, oblivious, chattered on cheerfully.“Then I’ll tell you the place I go—there’s a pool…”After tea, we returned upstairs. Hugh continued studying in the common room; George sat on the windowsill, twisting his Rubik’s Cube; Simon gathered the mail and headed downstairs. I sat in the common room until bedtime.Simon was already in the room when I entered. He sat at his desk writing a letter; he glanced over at me but kept writing. In pajamas, I perched on the edge of my bed and stared at the neat back of Simon’s head.Finally, I asked,“Did you do it again last night?”Without looking back, Simon answered,“Yes.”“Why not while I was awake? Too scared to get it up?” I taunted in the vilest tone I could muster.Simon still didn’t turn around.“I wanted Jérôme to want it that way.”His calm façade irritated me more than anything. Instead of striking him, I asked,“Since when?”“From the first night I started living in this room.”He answered flatly, never pausing his letter. Who was that letter even for? Perhaps merely a distraction. I glared at the back of his head until I stood and moved to sit on his bed. Only then did Simon turn around.He set his pen down and met my eyes—serious, composed. I longed to see that composed face twist in despair, to beg and sob. I sat facing him, legs parted. Simon glanced at my lap, then met my gaze again.“Do it.”Simon didn’t reply.“Do it now. Don’t sneak it in while I’m asleep.”Simon didn’t reply. He only sneered.“What, can’t get it up even if I lay out the welcome mat?”Simon stood slowly and strode over to my bed. His shadow fell over me. He leaned down, placed a hand on my thigh, and slid it up. Through the thin pajamas, his warm hand pressed against me.I stared unblinking into Simon’s dark eyes as his hand traveled up from my thigh to grip my waist—and lifted me up. He guided my back against his bed.“You’ll have to get up early if you want to go out tomorrow.”He left me standing there, turned off his desk lamp, and then switched off the room light.I stood stupidly in the dark. Simon had already crawled into his own bed. He called out,“Good night, Raymond.”For a moment I stood dully, then moved back to my bed. The anxiety that had gripped me since Simon’s touch eased slightly, though a nagging sense of dread remained. I didn’t want to sleep, but exhaustion claimed me. I drifted off without realizing it.I woke much earlier than usual on Saturday morning, too excited at the prospect of my first outing since transferring. For the first time in ages, I felt an appetite.It was seven a.m. Simon had already gone out for his jog. I went down to the dining hall and ate a hearty breakfast of pasta loaded with meatballs. Since it was early, almost nobody else was there.I finished calmly, drank tea, and returned upstairs just as Hugh emerged from the bathroom, wearing only briefs and shaking out his wet hair. He greeted me and began packing. All he had was a few library books, underwear, and socks. In the common room, Hugh flung open every window.Summer was in full swing. Fogglund Province was the northernmost region of Britain, with long winters and short summers, and Bluebell sat at its northern edge. Hot days were rare, and there were no tropical nights. The sun shone bright and the humidity was low. The school had never seen such perfect summer weather.

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