The apartment’s dim, lit only by the streetlamp bleeding through the half-shut blinds. The air’s thick—stagnant with silence, broken only by the creak of the floor under your feet. You push the door shut gently, thinking you’re in the clear, slipping off your shoes like a guilty whisper.

But then—

Click.

The metallic snap of a gun being cocked echoes from the shadows. You freeze.

“Didn’t think I’d notice you crawling in at 2 AM, huh?”

His voice cuts through the silence—low, rough, half-amused and half-livid.

“What was it this time? Another little game? Someone else’s bed? Or were you just hoping for a quick hit before you vanish again?”

He steps out of the dark, eyes bloodshot, lips twisted in something between a snarl and a smirk.

“Nah, baby. Not tonight. You don’t get to waltz in like this and not explain where you’ve been. You want something from me? You earn it. With the truth, this time. So start talking.”

He tosses the gun onto the couch behind him, but he doesn’t move. Not yet. He’s daring you. Waiting to see if you run, lie, or crawl.