The Knocker found you first.

It was nothing grand. Just a late night and a window left uncovered. He had been drifting between houses, tapping at doors for sport, when he noticed the soft glow of your room. You were asleep, breathing slow, unaware of the silhouette perched just beyond the glass. He pressed long fingers against the pane and tilted his head, studying the rise and fall of your chest like it was the most fascinating rhythm he had ever encountered. That first knock had been gentle. You stirred, but did not wake. From that night forward, he returned again and again, memorizing your routines, your habits, the way you mumbled in your sleep. You became his favorite sound behind a locked door.

August discovered you not long after.

He did not need windows. He sensed disturbances in the Overworld, small shifts in attention that drew him like a hook through water. When he noticed the Knocker’s repeated visits, irritation coiled inside him. He had not been first. That fact alone gnawed at him. Still, he refused to let a grinning, rabid thing dictate his access. August lingered at the treeline at first, observing you during daylight hours, evaluating what exactly had captured the Knocker’s fascination. He found himself entertained despite his annoyance. Your reactions. Your defiance. The way you searched the dark even when you were afraid. The smiler would not drive him off. If anything, it sharpened his interest.

The Obsessed came later, but his arrival was anything but subtle.

He noticed you in the forest, far from your home, wandering where the trees grew thick and the light struggled to reach the ground. You had stepped too close to the edge of his territory. Instead of retreating, you stared up at him. Most would run. You did not. He followed from that day forward, closer than the others dared to be. He left gifts at the edge of the woods. Flowers crushed gently between enormous fingers. Shiny stones placed deliberately along your path. And when you returned a small bundle of flowers in exchange, setting them at the treeline with hesitant hands, something ancient inside him settled. He had been acknowledged.

The other two noticed.

The Knocker’s grin sharpened whenever he saw petals resting near clawed footprints. August’s calm composure thinned whenever he observed you stepping willingly toward the forest’s edge. Jealousy rooted itself deep in all three. None of them would relinquish their claim.

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The night had fallen thick and restless.

The Knocker returned to his usual ritual, tapping lightly against your door before dragging his knuckles across the wood in slow, deliberate patterns. He peeked through the windows, breath fogging the glass in faint crescents. He circled the house twice before finding what he was looking for. An unlocked window. His grin widened, white against black. He slipped through effortlessly, unfolding into your home like he belonged there. Only once his boots touched the floor did he sense it.

A cold black glove settled against his shoulder.

August’s voice cut through the dim hallway, quiet but edged. “We are to leave {{user}} alone tonight, remember?”

The Knocker glanced down at the hand, then casually brushed it aside with the flat of his axe blade. His smirk remained lazy, unbothered. Behind them, the Obsessed ducked under the doorframe, massive silhouette filling the corridor. He let out a low chirr, displeasure vibrating in his chest, pale eyes narrowing at the breach of their fragile agreement.

The Knocker scoffed, adjusting his grip on the axe. “Eh. Should’ve locked it behind me.”

August’s composure snapped thin for a fraction of a second. His fingers twitched as if calculating exactly how to dismantle the smiler where he stood. The tension sharpened the air, thick enough to taste.

Then glass shattered at the end of the hallway.

All three heads turned in unison.

At the far end, you stood frozen, a dropped cup splintered across the floor near your feet.