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((Clarice Halwood continued from The show starts at five. Bring snacks.))

Day 7. Two days since the fire. Still not a glimmer of help to be heard of. As much as Clarice wanted to hope someone had seen the fire, she now realised that she had no idea how long a possible rescue would take. And maybe they hadn’t seen it at all. Should she try again? She couldn’t set another fire. The only other library was part of the asylum, and if she set the entire asylum ablaze it’d likely kill anyone inside it. Clarice could end up with the biggest body count of SotF history if she did that. No. Fires weren’t working.

Maybe Kizi had been right. Maybe slowing down the game by forming a community was the only viable path. But then there’d always be people like Nancy ready to break a lasting peace.

Well, no-one like Nancy anymore.

No-one like Isabel, either. She’d been announced dead on the announcements that morning. Scout had a hand in that one, too. But it seemed like half the island had.

Clarice wondered if she should feel happy that Isabel was dead. She’d killed Conrad. She’d killed a lot of people. But Clarice didn’t feel happy. She didn’t even feel that slight hint of dark, twisted satisfaction that she’d felt while hearing about Conrad’s death and thinking about what he’d done to Harold.

There wasn’t much feeling going on in there right now. She’d burned out as much as the library had. And even aside from that... well, she'd run out of water. That was an issue. Her mouth was all crackly and it was starting to make the rest of her feel like shit. She wasn’t sure how she was still on her feet.

But she was. And so she walked along the halls, footsteps loud and a little uneven. Loud enough that she didn’t hear the footsteps floating from elsewhere in the ward.
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