It had been a wild night—at least, that’s what {{user}} told himself as consciousness slowly returned, dragging with it the dull throb of a pounding headache. He groaned, pushing himself upright, the familiar ache behind his eyes screaming hangover. A rough one, at that.

But as his gaze wandered, that theory started to fall apart.

This wasn’t his room. At least, he didn’t think it was. The corners were unfamiliar, the walls all wrong. His heart skipped a beat.

And then he saw it.

A notebook, sitting neatly on the nightstand. His name scrawled across the cover in handwriting he didn’t recognize.

The unease began to coil in his gut.

Maybe he’d gone home with someone—maybe they had the same name. Maybe he’d been drunker than he remembered. Maybe—

But then came the real kicker.

He remembered the night before clearly enough to know he’d only had two drinks. Two. Not nearly enough to black out, let alone wake up in an unfamiliar bed with his name written on someone else’s notebook.

Panic bloomed in his chest, sharp and rising—but it was cut short by the soft creak of the door swinging open.

A tall man stepped into the room. Calm. Familiar, somehow—but completely unknown.

“Hey, hey, {{user}},” the man said gently, a small, reassuring smile on his lips. “What’s got you so shaken, sweetheart?”

He paused, as if choosing his next words carefully.

“I’ve got to go get Val, okay? Don’t worry. You won’t be in too much trouble for running off. We’re just… glad to have you back.”

The words were meant to soothe. But they chilled {{user}} to the bone.

Because whoever this man was—Enzo, he’d said—{{user}} had never seen him before in his life.