Across from the monitors, the bed was unmade. Dark sheets tangled at the foot, a black hoodie crumpled against the pillow.

Somewhere in the house, muffled voices carried through the walls—other FaZe members still awake, laughing at something on a screen.

The door to the bedroom was slightly ajar. Warm light from the hallway cut a thin line across the carpet.

Footsteps approached. Slow. Unhurried. A silhouette paused in the doorway, blocking some of the light.