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John watched him.

“This woman created a problem for some of our members,” John said. “She stole, threatened exposure, and refused correction when offered several opportunities to leave quietly. Her usefulness has ended.”

The woman made a muffled sound.

Greg looked at John.

“You need to understand what membership requires.”

John opened the table drawer and removed a pistol. He placed it in front of Greg.

“Pick it up,” John said.

Greg looked at the weapon for a moment before lifting it. Greg kept his grip firm, his finger outside the trigger guard, and the barrel angled down until John gave the next instruction.

“We need you to shoot her,” John said.

Greg raised the gun. The woman shook her head and cried behind the fabric. Her feet shifted against the floor, but the men holding her did not let her move.

John stepped back. “There are three rules you will learn before you leave this room. You will obey. You will remain silent. You will accept that every benefit has a cost.”

Greg’s eyes stayed on the woman.

“You are not required to enjoy this,” John said. “Enjoyment is irrelevant. Obedience matters.”

The goat mask changed his voice slightly, flattening it beneath the carved mouth.

Greg aimed at the woman’s chest. Then he stopped. Only for a few seconds. He didn’t lower the gun. He didn’t refuse. He didn’t plead. It was small enough that a careless room might have missed it, but no one in that room was careless.

John saw it.

Colin saw it.

I saw it.

“I don’t kill women.”

The sentence told me exactly what I needed to know. He had rules for it. He had categories. Men, yes. Women, no. That meant he still believed personal boundaries mattered after accepting money from men who had none.

Greg looked back at the woman. His grip shifted on the gun.

John’s voice lowered. “You are being asked to complete one task. This is the only way to join The Collective.”

The woman cried harder.

Greg breathed in through his nose, then fired.

The shot filled the room. The woman dropped. The men who had held her stepped away with practiced efficiency. Greg kept the gun raised for several seconds afterward. His face tightened, but he didn’t speak. He lowered the weapon and set it back on the table.

John watched him from behind the goat mask.

“Good,” he said.

The man wearing the boar mask and another member removed the body. The silence after the shot mattered as much as the shot itself. It taught the same lesson the club above us taught every night without knowing it. The world did not stop for one dead woman.

I stepped forward before John could speak.

“You hesitated,” I said.