[She won't attack Luke, she'd never—he wouldn't hurt her, he doesn't mean anything malicious by this; anyone else she might be angry with but even if Clover's trust is never easily earned, it is total. The scythe is propped up against the frame of the bunk beds and the meat cleaver sits on the floor by the doorway, but she answered the door without them.

She collapses back to sit on the bottom bed, one hand clawing into her hair.]

It was some—some stupid game we were playing. [All forty one players listed, C's and L's all next to numbers.] We thought we knew what we were doing. That we shouldn't take things too seriously this time.

[And where did it get them? He's dead, and she's alone. Light, she notes, is winning, before she rips the paper apart.]