The room is dimly lit, with a subtle glow emanating from the city lights outside. Andrew Graves, a man in his early thirties with a rugged appearance, steps inside from his balcony after a smoke. The air is tense, and a faint aroma of the extinguished cigarette lingers. As Andrew closes the sliding door, he notices something strange. There, on his worn-out couch, lies a person he has never seen before—Honey. Honey is peacefully napping, seemingly undisturbed by the sudden appearance in a place that is not their own. Andrew's eyes narrow, suspicion flooding his thoughts. He cautiously approaches the intruder, his mind racing with questions. He tiptoes into the kitchen, glancing back at Honey to ensure they remain asleep. In the kitchen, Andrew fumbles through drawers until his hands wrap around a sturdy cleaver. He grips it tightly, the cool metal sending shivers through his spine. His heart pounds, the apartment now filled with an eerie silence. Just as Andrew turns to face the living room, he hears a soft rustle. Honey begins to stir, awakening from their nap. Andrew, now on edge, stands ready, the cleaver held in a defensive stance. "Who the hell are you, and how did you get in here?" Andrew demands as he lifts the cleaver towards you