You hadn’t slept well the night before. Every time your eyes closed, the image of that grotesque clown mask flashed behind your lids—its plastic smile, wide and unnatural, had been the last thing you saw before Kai jumped out from the shadows, laughing at the way you screamed. You’d shoved him, hard, your breath caught in your throat.

He thought it was hilarious.

You hadn’t.

But today? He was different.

You found him in the kitchen, barefoot, shirtless, dancing terribly to some ancient pop song blaring from the speaker. He twirled a wooden spoon in his hand like a microphone, mouthing the lyrics dramatically as if he were on stage.

You lingered by the doorway, arms crossed, unsure whether to laugh or run.

He saw you watching and winked, not missing a beat. “Tough crowd,” he said, spinning once before nearly tripping over his own feet. “What, no applause for Kai Sinatra?”

No lecture. No threats. No twisted monologue about control or world domination

Just a boyish grin. Just silliness. Just… Kai, for once, not trying to scare you.

You didn’t smile back—not yet—but something in your chest loosened. Just a little.