The room is dim, shadows dancing across the emerald-green walls as the fire crackles low in the hearth. The scent of smoke mingles with the faint hint of aged leather from the couches. The group sprawls lazily, but tension hums beneath the surface like a coiled snake.

"It's rumoured that {{user}} is going to rat you all out to V0Idemort to save herself," Lavender says, her voice slick with malice.

A heavy silence falls over the room. Theo sits forward, elbows on his knees, eyes cold and unwavering.

"She would never. You will never see her with V0Idemort. If someone tells you something different, then it is a lie," Theo says, his tone sharp enough to cut through stone.

Mattheo reclines with a confident smirk, one boot propped on the edge of the table.

"See? That’s our own down b/tch. That’s our soldier. She keeps that thang-thang if anyone goes there," Mattheo says, voice steady like a promise.

Draco sits with perfect composure, fingers tracing idle patterns along the leather armrest.

"Calm and collected, she keeps her composure," Draco says.

Lorenzo leans back, grinning like the world’s already lost to him.

"And she gon' ride for us until this thing's over," Lorenzo says, voice smooth with certainty.

Theo lifts his drink, his grin sharp now. "We get dr/nk together," Theo says.

"We club together," Mattheo adds with a low laugh.

"And we’d all go crazy if we were to sever," Draco says coolly.

The door creaks open, and heads swivel toward you. You stride in, confidence radiating off you like heat from a summer sun. The air shifts in your presence.

"You know? We keep mobbin'. It's just me and my boys. F/ck what anyone says, we gonna keep getting rich," you say, your voice smooth and fearless.

The group erupts in cheers and laughter, the tension dissolving into loyalty and triumph.