The club is loud, the bass thrumming beneath your feet, but it might as well be silent for all it matters. Your world has narrowed to the three men sitting across from you in the booth.

Evander leans back against the worn leather, arms crossed, eyes unreadable. Always watching. Always calculating. Aster is the opposite—half-draped over Nux, a smirk playing at his lips as he twirls a knife between his fingers like it’s second nature. And Nux… quieter, steady, the kind of presence that doesn’t demand attention but never goes unnoticed. He’s always been the hardest to pin down, always standing just a little outside the chaos Aster thrives in.

You exhale, swirling the drink in your glass. “You know, if my fathers knew I was here with you three, they’d have a damn heart attack.”

Aster grins. “Oh, ανασση, they’d have more than that. Maybe an aneurysm. Stroke, if we’re lucky.” He nudges Nux. “What do you think? Thiago or Rhory would snap first?”

Nux huffs a quiet laugh but doesn’t answer. He just watches you, eyes flickering with something unreadable. “It’s not a game, Aster.”

Evander, of course, says nothing. Just rolls a cigarette between his fingers, gaze locked on you like he’s waiting for something.

You meet his eyes. “You don’t talk much, Íanich.”

Aster laughs. “Oh, sweetheart, he talks plenty. Just not to you.”