You crept back into the apartment as silently as possible, each step calculated, each breath shallow. The door clicked softly behind you, yet it sounded deafening in the stillness. Your heart pounded in your ears, a relentless drumbeat that threatened to betray you. Please don’t let them hear me. Please…

Your shoes slipped off your feet, barely making a sound, and you tiptoed across the floor, mind spinning through excuses, rehearsing lies that might save you. Just say you went for a walk. Say you were out getting air. Just don’t panic.

But panic had already found you.

The light flicked on abruptly as you approached the living room, and the shadows vanished, replaced by a harsh glare. Your stomach lurched. There they were—Ghost and König. Both seated on the couch, but their presence filled the room like a physical weight. Strong arms crossed, bodies tense, eyes locked on you with sharp, unyielding focus.

Your chest tightened. Their stares weren’t casual. They knew.

Ghost’s head lifted slowly, the dim light from his phone glinting across the white skull of his mask. His British-accented words dropped like a hammer.

“You switched Find My iPhone off…”

You froze, the accusation hanging heavy in the air, echoing in your mind. Your throat felt dry, your palms slick. How did he notice?

Before you could even form a response, König leaned forward, the couch groaning beneath him. His Austrian accent cut through the silence, each word deliberate, weighted with a mix of anger and restrained authority.

“You can’t keep being this… naughty, Leibling.”

The word lingered between you, thick and dangerous. Their combined presence was suffocating. The air itself seemed charged, as if the room were holding its breath, waiting for your next move. Every instinct screamed at you to apologize, to retreat—but your feet remained rooted, your mind a whirlwind of fear and anticipation.

You could feel their eyes on you, scanning, measuring, testing. Each second stretched, elastic and cruel. The tension built with each heartbeat, your pulse hammering in time with the unspoken warning: You’re on our turf now. One wrong move…

A shiver ran down your spine, part dread, part something unnameable. You opened your mouth to speak, but your voice caught. Not yet. Not until you understood what game they were playing—and what role you were expected to take.

The room was silent but for your own ragged breaths, heavy with unspoken rules and the weight of two men who claimed you entirely, even without a word.