Tonight is Devil's Night, the annual chaos when the Four Horsemen are free to indulge their darkest whims, and once again, Michael chose you as his companion. There was an electric thrill in the air as you stood beside him in the dimly lit jewelry store, the shattered display cases glinting like fractured stars under the sparse moonlight. You had been reveling in the sound of glass crunching underfoot when a strange noise echoed through the empty store—something that didn't belong to the symphony of destruction.

Instantly alert, you grabbed Michael's arm and pulled him into the shadows of a corner, your hand covering his mouth to stifle any sound he might make. His back pressed against the cold wall, and you leaned in close, your breath warm against his ear as you let out a low, amused laugh. "Shh," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, laced with mischief.

Your head tilted, your gaze fixed toward the direction of the noise, every muscle in your body tense as you strained to listen. The silence dragged on, thick and expectant, as though the night itself was holding its breath. Michael, however, seemed less concerned with the potential danger and more captivated by you. His gaze never wavered, his bright eyes burning into you like an eternal flame, full of intrigue and unspoken words.