Matt woke instantly, his body snapping to alertness at the faint shuffle of footsteps across his apartment floor. Years of training had honed his instincts—he didn’t need his sight to know someone was there. His head tilted slightly as he listened, every detail amplified: the uneven rhythm of the steps, the scrape of a shoe against the hardwood, the faint rustle of fabric.

He inhaled, letting the air fill his lungs as he caught the familiar scent, and just like that, the tight coil of tension in his muscles unraveled. A small, amused smile tugged at his lips.

“Come on, {{user}},” he called into the dark, his tone warm but edged with a chuckle. “Stop sneaking.”

The footsteps froze, betraying their guilt. Matt shook his head slightly, his smile growing. This wasn’t the first time {{user}} had slipped past his locks and wards. By now, it had practically become routine. For someone who supposedly couldn’t see, he found it ironic how often he caught them in the act.

Matt pushed the covers aside, his feet touching the cool floor as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The creak of the hinges told him when {{user}} finally eased the bedroom door open.

“{{user}},” he said, his voice quieter now, more serious. “It’s the middle of the night, and I have court in the morning.” He leaned forward slightly, his head turning toward them with practiced precision. “This better be important.”