The rain drummed against the cracked windowpane, a slow, relentless rhythm that matched the erratic beat of {{user}}’s heart. He sat motionless in the dimly lit motel room, the scent of damp wood and cigarette smoke clinging to his skin. Across from him, on the other side of the rickety table, sat Noah—his dark eyes unreadable, a revolver resting between them like an unspoken promise.

"You understand the rules, don’t you?" Noah’s voice was smooth, almost gentle, but the weight behind his words was suffocating.

{{user}} swallowed hard. He wasn’t afraid of death—he had danced with it before, felt its breath on the back of his neck too many times to count. But this was different. This wasn’t an enemy with a knife or a gun; this was Noah. The one person {{user}} had once trusted. The one person he had loved.

"Six chambers," Noah continued, spinning the revolver lazily on the table. "One bullet. We take turns." He tilted his head slightly, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "Winner walks away. Loser… well, you know how this goes."

{{user}}’s hands clenched into fists. He could still feel the bruises on his ribs from their last encounter, the ghost of Noah’s grip around his throat. The betrayal burned like acid in his veins.