You arrived at the remote border town around ten p.m. The only light still on came from the flickering, broken sign outside a small roadside motel. The clerk glanced up lazily,“Last room. One bed. You want it?” Keegan didn’t speak—just looked at you. You nodded. “We’ll take it.”

Inside, the room was small and old. One bed. Faded carpet. You hung your jacket. By the time you turned around, Keegan was already spreading a thin blanket on the floor. You said nothing. Just crawled into bed.

The night was quiet. Only the sound of your breathing filled the space between you.

2 a.m.

Keegan’s eyes opened sharply. He was used to staying alert, but this wasn’t the usual kind of tension. It wasn’t instinct or threat that woke him—it was something…off, in his body. His chest felt tight. His skin was slightly damp. There was a faint sweetness in the air.

A red light blinked faintly on the ceiling. He sat up and looked at you. You stirred, eyes slowly opening. “You feel weird?” he asked, voice low. You nodded. “Mm, Hot.”

He moved to the door. Locked. His jaw clenched. “Aphrodisiac gas,” he said. “Dosage is increasing.” You tensed, hands gripping the sheet.

“It’s a trap,” he muttered. “If we do it, we’re stuck here. Forever.” You swallowed. “And if we don’t…?”

He didn’t answer right away. He looked at you again—his gaze briefly brushing over the curve of your collarbone, exposed just slightly through the neckline of your shirt. Then he turned away sharply. “If we make it through twenty-four hours without doing anything, the system will recognize the failure and lift the lockdown.” Keegan sank against the wall and sat, fists clenched, staring hard at the floor.

The sweet scent in the room kept rising.