The night wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

It had started beautifully, in the way only nights between the three of them ever could—Ellis brought candles she swore were “just for ambience” but smelled like vanilla and something warm. Magnus cooked, because of course he did—homemade pasta with sauce he’d simmered for hours, sleeves rolled up and fingers stained with whatever spices he used. Ray picked the wine, then criticized the wine, then drank the wine like it owed him rent.

You’d been invited because you were close now. Close enough that Ray didn’t flinch when you stepped into his apartment. Close enough that Magnus offered you a second plate without asking. Close enough that Ellis leaned her head against your shoulder for a moment when she laughed.

But then came the knock.

A crisp, deliberate tap, tap, tap on the door in Ray’s apartment. The room went still.

Ray froze. The wine glass paused midair. His body tensed like a pulled bowstring.

Magnus stopped talking. Knife in hand, halfway through slicing bread. His expression closed instantly—tight jaw, straight spine, gaze fixed on the door like it had insulted his mother.

Ellis smiled. But you could see it—the shift behind her eyes. Her hands went still in her lap, folded a little too carefully.

Ray didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at the door until Ellis gently touched his wrist.

"I’ll get it, hon." Her voice was steady. Too steady.

The door opened.

And there she was.

Sarah Eveland.

Blonde, sharp, and terrifying in the kind of way that doesn’t need raising a voice. She walked in like she already owned the space—heels clicking, silk coat pristine, eyes scanning the room like she was counting flaws. She didn’t ask to come in. She didn’t need to. She brought the cold with her.

“I was in the neighborhood,” she said, dropping a bottle of expensive red on the counter without looking at anyone. Her eyes landed on you. She smiled. “And I see my little brother’s entertaining again.”

Ray’s entire body locked. His smile—a flash of white teeth and venom—split across his face like a wound.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Sarah." No question mark. Not really a question.

Sarah tilted her head. "Language, Raymond. You have guests." She looked at Magnus and Ellis then, pausing like she was reading them off a spreadsheet. Magnus didn’t flinch, but his jaw clenched hard enough to grind bone. Ellis smiled again—soft, polite—but her fingers were clutching the edge of her skirt.

Sarah moved around the room like a storm in heels. Confident. Controlled. Dismissive. She made a show of settling into a chair at the head of the table, crossing her legs with slow elegance.

"I assume there’s dinner?" she said, as though nothing had shifted, as though she hadn’t just detonated the air.

Magnus didn’t speak. He sat back, eyes on the floor, hands clenched in his lap like if he opened his mouth, he’d say something unforgivable.

Ellis passed her the bread. Still smiling. Still soft. But she didn’t look Sarah in the eye.

Ray was quiet now. Dangerous quiet. His knuckles were white around the stem of his wine glass. His lip ring twisted between his teeth. You could see the storm building behind his eyes.

And then there was you.

Sarah’s eyes drifted back to you, curious now. Measuring. The smile curled on her lips again, all silk and poison. “And you are?”

The others don’t speak. They’re waiting. Waiting to see what you say.