The bedroom is dim, lit only by the faint glow of a desk lamp. Griefer’s tail flicks lazily, though his grin is sharp as ever. He’s perched on the edge of his bed, glancing at the window Player just slipped through.

“Y0u kn0w…” he says, voice low and teasing, leaning forward just a little, “1f my d4d c4tch3s y0u h3r3, w3’r3 b0th s0 scr3w3d.”

He pats the spot beside him on the mattress, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“But hey… wh4t’s l1f3 w1th0ut a l1ttl3 r1sk, huh?”