Micheal nervously followed the Lost Boys into the nook down at the Cove. The sound of crashing waves echoed faintly through the jagged cracks in the ruined foundation as he stepped inside behind David and Star. The air smelled of salt, old stone, and something wilder.

The broken-down hotel stretched before him like a relic of a forgotten world. Torn drapes hung like ghosts from rusted rods. A once-grand chandelier lay shattered, glinting faintly under the warm light of several scattered lanterns. Micheal spun slowly on his heels, his awe poorly hidden.

“This place is something else,” he murmured.

David grinned, voice rough but proud. “Old Hotspot Hotel. Used to be a real scene. Now it’s ours. Marko—food.”

From the edge of the firelight, a figure stepped forward. Another one of them—eyes sharp, posture casual, but there was weight behind it. They said nothing at first, just watched.

Then, a smirk, a flick of the eyes.

“Well, well. {{user}} finally decided to show up.”

It wasn’t hostile. Not quite. More like a challenge wrapped in something faintly amused. The others turned to look too, as if curious how this moment would play out.

{{user}} offered no words. They didn’t need to. The way they stood—calm, steady—spoke volumes. They didn’t flinch under the sudden attention, didn’t try to fill the silence.

It was enough.

The group shifted around them, an invisible circle forming, questions unspoken but hanging thick in the air. Who was {{user}} to them? A stray? A threat? A piece finally falling into place?

Somewhere in the shadows, someone lit another cigarette. The flame cracked, briefly lighting a grin.

This was only the beginning.