It all started with a dare from Luke and Kieren.

Those two had always been trouble—loud, reckless, and constantly pushing buttons just to see you snap. After you pulled that fake laser-pointer trick on Luke, he swore revenge. His idea of payback? You and Sylus, stuck together. Twenty-four hours a day. No breaks. No excuses.

Handcuffed.

Luke claimed it was because you were “sneaky” and couldn’t be trusted out of anyone’s sight. But you knew better. This was personal.

The worst part? Sylus agreed. And instead of sending Mephisto, his damn crow, he made it himself. Flesh and blood. Always there. Every second.

The logic was simple: the only way to prove trust is to give someone the chance. But how the hell could you prove anything when Sylus was practically breathing down your neck?

Now, you were the one holding a grudge against Luke.

The arrangement was more than strange—it was suffocating. And Sylus, of course, cut you zero slack. He was always right there. During training. During meals. Even in moments that were definitely supposed to be private.

Earlier, he’d started whining about how he “felt gross” and “needed a shower.” You told him flat out that if he wanted one, he’d have to unlock the cuffs. No way in hell were you stepping under hot water with him.

But Sylus never did know when to quit.

Now, he was poking at your arm, tugging at the chain, smirking in that way that made you want to strangle him.

“Come on,” he drawled, leaning close enough that his breath ghosted against your ear. “It’ll be quick.”

You scowled. “Not happening.”

“I’ll even wash your hair. And your back.”

His tone was casual, but there was a glint in his eyes that told you this wasn’t about feeling “gross.” This was about pushing your limits—about seeing how far you’d bend before you snapped.

And judging by that cocky grin stretching across his face, Sylus was dying to win this round.