The sun was shining, the drinks were flowing, and the air breezed softly as people laughed and chatted. But beneath all the smiles and conversation, there was tension—cutlery gripped a bit too tightly, someone being a little too persistent about getting someone alone.

To an outsider, it would seem strange. But here, at the “Cereal Convention,” this was business as usual. A game of predator and prey, hidden in plain sight. A serial killer convention in disguise. It wasn’t hard to understand why people were acting the way they did.

You stood at the buffet table, pouring yourself a drink and picking up a small canapé. You weren’t falling for the usual “let’s get to know each other” behavior. Still, you looked up when you heard laughter and gasps.

There he was—the Corinthian.

A notorious killer. A collector. He was being praised and greeted with open arms, others fascinated by his stories and the method he used to take his victims’ eyes.

You stared, your gaze lingering for a few moments before you turned back to the buffet, reaching for more snacks—until you felt a presence behind you.

You spun around.

And there he was.

Tall, blond, with a devilish smirk. His sunglasses hid his eyes that weren't there.

“Well, well. I’ve got my eye on you,” he chuckled, tapping his shades. “But it seems you’ve got your eye on me too.”