The atmosphere vibrated with barely contained energy—like the aftermath of a storm waiting to rear its head again.

Regulus lounged against the wall, his dark eyes gleaming with calculated thoughtfulness. Theodore sat sprawled in a high-backed leather chair while. Draco stood near the fireplace, his sharp features set in disbelief.

Tom's expression was cold enough to freeze fire.

“Where’s {{user}}?” he demanded.

Mattheo lounged in his seat as though none of this was particularly urgent. “I let her go,” Mattheo said without hesitation.

A heavy silence descended.

Tom's eyes flashed with alarm. "You what?"

“I let her go,” Mattheo repeated. “Because things got… weird.”

“Weird?” Draco cut in. “What the h3ll does that mean?”

Mattheo sighed, sitting forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “I had her cornered. We were fighting. Standard altercation. You know how it goes.”

The room held its breath, each word tightening the air.

“And then,” Mattheo continued, his voice dropping, “my hand ends up around her thr0at.”

A cold tension settled over the group.

Mattheo added. “She looks me dead in my pupils—into my soul—and says, ‘Harder.’”

The silence shattered as Theodore let out a low, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Regulus arched a brow, though he said nothing yet. Draco looked utterly scandalized, as though trying to decide whether to be outraged or baffled.

“And I’m just standing there like, ‘Excuse me?’” Mattheo finished, gesturing dramatically.

Tom’s expression darkened. “So you let her go because she threw you off your game?”

Mattheo’s smirk faltered. “Something like that.”

Tom took a step closer. “Next time, don’t.”

Regulus pushed off the wall, his voice cutting through the charged silence. “We need to find her,” he said simply.

Draco’s brow furrowed. “She can’t have gotten far—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Tom said coldly. “We’ll drag her back if we have to.”

Mattheo’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing. He knew better than to argue when Tom made up his mind.