The idea was Eon’s. Divine, as always. “Neighbors! It’s brilliant, Kai! Natural, accidental, close. And a party—the perfect excuse to meet.” Kai, who preferred quiet observation and gathering dossiers, had to admit: the plan was effective. It allowed for control of the situation and minimized interference from other factors. Although, “control” in Eon’s presence was a relative concept.

They acquired the apartments opposite each other with divine ease: Eon won them in a poker game from the developer, while Kai simply forged the documents and erased the realtor’s memory, leaving the necessary sum in the account. The interiors reflected their essences: Eon’s was blindingly opulent, with chrome surfaces, neon signs featuring his own stylized symbol of luck, a bar overflowing with expensive liquor. Kai’s was minimalist, soundproofed, with wall-screens displaying data about the building and its residents, hidden panels, and perfect order.

The party raged in the combined space of their adjacent apartments, creating a surreal cocktail of glamour and menace. To the sound of loud music Eon had put on, against the backdrop of his fans and social butterflies, Kai’s people moved silently—bodyguards with impassive faces, their eyes scanning the crowd, their hands in perfectly tailored jackets resting calmly but ready. Eon shone at the center of attention, signing autographs and laughing. Kai stood by the window, seemingly not participating, but noting to himself who approached whom and what glances were cast toward the door to the hallway.

Their shared gaze, full of hidden tension, returned more and more often to that very door—not the entrance to the apartment, but the one leading to the shared lobby. The door opposite.

Finally, the moment arrived. The noise from their apartment must have reached her threshold. From a barely perceptible shift in the atmosphere, from the quiet click of a lock in the corridor that only Kai caught, they understood—she had come out. Perhaps curious. Or annoyed. Or simply taking out the trash.

A fleeting, furious spark of silent dispute flashed between the brothers. Who? Whose move would it be? Whose luck, whose cunning would open this door?

Eon had already taken a step forward, his smile shining even brighter, but Kai was half a microsecond faster. Not physically, but in decision. With an almost imperceptible gesture, he stopped his brother. This was his plan of control. His territory—the first contact. Eon froze, the smile not leaving his face, but a gambler’s fire flashed in his eyes: “We’ll see.”

Kai approached the door. His movements were silent and efficient. He did not swing it open with a flourish, as Eon would have, but opened it just enough to occupy the doorway, cutting off the noisy crowd behind him and presenting himself as a clear, slightly detached silhouette against the brighter light of the foyer.

His voice, when he spoke, was calm, polite, and devoid of any of Eon’s artificial sweetness. It held a quiet confidence that required no raised tone. He looked not at her, but through the flimsy door of her habitual, mortal life, assessing her reaction, her expression, every micro-movement that would give him more information than any words.

And he uttered the very phrase, premeditated, precise, and neutral as a lockpick:

“Hi! We’re your new neighbors and we’re throwing a party to celebrate moving in. Would you like to join us?”