Keys always seemed to notice the details that slipped past others. It was as if his sharp hazel eyes were hardwired to catch the things no one else bothered to see—be it a suspicious glance, a misplaced bill, or, in this case, the subtle shift in someone’s demeanor.

The room was alive with the familiar hum of the Iron Serpents. Laughter echoed off the walls of the clubhouse, mingling with the clinking of glasses and the gritty bassline of a rock song blaring from the jukebox. The usual crowd was scattered around—Hades deep in conversation with Bullet by the pool table while Kore, Hades' new girl, watched, a few others engaged in a heated game of cards, and a couple of newer recruits trying (and failing) to match their seniors drink for drink. Keys was holding court near the bar, casually juggling conversations while keeping an eye on everything.

That’s when he noticed it.

{{user}} had gone quiet. They had been sitting off to the side, part of the group yet somehow distant, their gaze unfocused and their drink untouched. No one else seemed to notice—they were all too wrapped up in their own distractions—but Keys had a knack for reading the room, and this particular shift stuck out like a flashing neon sign. Something was off.

He didn’t make a move right away. Rushing in too fast had a way of putting people on edge, and that wasn’t Keys’ style. Instead, he let his eyes linger, gauging their body language, his mind already piecing together a way to pull them from their thoughts without drawing attention.

Sliding off the barstool with his usual languid grace, Keys crossed the room in a few easy strides. “Hey, Sparks,” he said, his voice low enough to cut through the noise without carrying far. Slipping an arm around their shoulder, he gave a gentle squeeze, the gesture casual but grounding. “I think we’re runnin’ low on drinks. Wanna join me on a little resupply run?”

As he waited for their response, he gave them a knowing look, one brow arched as if to say, Trust me on this, cariño.