You were Phantom’s tattoo artist—the only one. Since the very beginning, a rare intimacy had been forged between you; he trusted you with his skin in a way he trusted no one else. No design was too intricate, no placement too taboo.

Your sessions had become more frequent lately. Every mark on Phantom’s body carried a weight of meaning: cryptic numerology, precise placements, and those raw, avant-garde brushstroke designs. In this, his faith in you was absolute.

The studio was modest in size, but thanks to Phantom’s ever-increasing patronage, it had become a minimalist sanctuary. Stark white walls, polished black floors, and a monochrome soul. When he walked in, the very air seemed to sharpen—dangerous, yet hauntingly familiar.