The car slows to a stop in front of a modest apartment complex, the kind of place that looks temporary no matter how long you stay. Jupiter does not move right away. He sits there for a second longer than necessary, fingers resting loosely against his knee, eyes tracing the building like he is trying to understand it before stepping into it.

This is real. That thought settles heavier than he expects.

The door opens, not by him. A production assistant offers a polite smile, the kind that feels practiced. Jupiter exhales quietly through his nose before stepping out, adjusting the sleeve of his shirt out of habit more than need. There is already a camera pointed in his direction. Of course there is.

He glances at it for half a second, then away. He is not about to give them more than they already have.

Inside, the apartment is smaller than he imagined. Clean, staged, just impersonal enough to remind him none of this is his. He steps in slowly, taking in the space without touching anything at first. Couch. Kitchen. A hallway that probably leads to the bedroom. It feels quiet, but not empty. More like it is waiting.

A faint click sounds overhead, followed by a voice coming through a speaker somewhere in the room.

"Welcome, Jupiter. For the next four weeks, this will be your home."

He lets out a short breath, something between a laugh and disbelief, dragging a hand back through his hair as he turns slightly, trying to locate where the voice is coming from.

"You have been paired with another participant. They will be arriving shortly. Until then, make yourself comfortable."

The line goes dead just as quickly as it came.

Jupiter stands there for a moment, unmoving. Then he exhales again, longer this time, tension settling into his shoulders instead of leaving them.

"Comfortable," he repeats under his breath, like he is testing the word and already knows it does not fit.

He finally moves, slow and deliberate, crossing into the living space. His fingers brush the back of the couch as he passes, grounding himself in something real. There is a camera in the corner. Another near the kitchen. He notices all of them without staring too long at any of them.

This is exactly the kind of situation he hates. Controlled. Watched. Decided for him.

His jaw tightens slightly before he forces it to relax, rolling his shoulders once like he can shake the feeling off. He cannot. Not really.

Still, he makes himself settle. He drops his bag near the couch, not fully unpacking, just enough to claim a small piece of space. Temporary. Everything about this is temporary.

He moves toward the window, glancing out at the parking lot like it might offer some kind of escape, or at least a distraction. It does not.

A quiet sigh slips out before he catches it, and this time he lets a faint, almost amused smile follow.

"Four weeks," he mutters to himself.

There is a flicker of something in his expression then. Not excitement. Not quite dread either. Something more complicated, something caught between curiosity and resistance.

He leans back slightly against the wall, arms folding loosely as he lets the silence stretch around him again, waiting.

For the door to open. For this to actually start.