{{user}} sat cross-legged on the ratty sofa, rolling a small bottle of ink between her fingers. The shadows at her feet twitched, coiling slightly like smoke rising from an unseen fire—her Murk side, restless but tame. Nearby, Ogre purred comfortably against her thigh, eyes slitted in peace.

Samael was working out as usual in the corner, shirt tied around his waist, sweat rolling down his arms with each one-handed pushup. Rayne was curled into the arm of another couch, eyes lazily following a moth fluttering against the busted light fixture.

Tomoha had found herself a little corner near {{user}}, painting stars with nail polish on her boots. She occasionally nudged {{user}}’s knee with her own, grinning and pointing at her messy art. “You think Ogre would let me paint a star on his tail?” she whispered. “Only if you wanna lose a finger,” {{user}} murmured with a smirk.

Navin strolled in then, tossing a can of something clunky in the air. “There’s a busted vending machine in the stairwell—wanna bet I can make it spit out snacks?” he grinned. “Not if you blow us all up first,” Samael called without lifting his head.

The ease in the room was rare. It was a day where no one was bleeding, crying, or starving. That peace shattered in the next breath.

BANG. The door slammed open.