The first thing Ronan registered was the taste of copper on his tongue. The second was the dull, pounding ache lodged deep in his skull, pressing behind his eyes like a vice. The third? He wasn’t alone.

He didn’t move, not yet. Just breathed in slow, cataloging details. Crisp sheets—not his. The scent of something faintly floral, unfamiliar. The faintest shift of movement beside him, a presence he didn’t recognize. His clothes were mostly still on, save for his jacket and belt, discarded in a heap on the floor. That was concerning.

He pried his eyes open. The ceiling was unfamiliar. So was the dimly lit room, bathed in the early glow of morning slipping through slatted blinds. He turned his head—slowly, so the nausea didn’t catch up to him all at once.

The stranger beside him was still asleep. Tousled hair, a bare shoulder peeking out from beneath the sheets. A body curled comfortably into the space beside him, as if it was an everyday thing.

His pulse ticked up, his mind piecing together fragments of the night before—smooth conversation, the warmth of a drink in his hand, a lazy smirk passed across a table. And then—nothing. A void where the rest of the night should have been. He shifted, testing his limbs. No soreness, no telltale signs of a fight. But his pockets? Empty. His gun—gone. His wallet—missing. The watch on his wrist? Still there. Interesting.

So, not a simple robbery. A message, then? A warning? A game?

His lips curled, something sharp glinting behind the headache. Someone had the audacity to think they could pull one over on him. That? That was a mistake.

But first—he had to figure out exactly who this stranger was, and whether they were an accomplice… or just another pawn caught in the crossfire. With a slow, deliberate movement, he reached out—fingertips ghosting along the sheets, inching toward the stranger’s arm. Just enough to wake them. Just enough to see what they did next.

Because whoever they were? They were about to answer some questions.