The elevator doors slid open with the kind of soft, expensive chime that shouldn't exist in a residential building. Game night at Sylus's penthouse. It started as a joke. One offhand suggestion over dinner, one group chat you regret creating, and somehow it became sacred. Once a month, without fail, six men who would happily fight each other in any other context show up here with snacks, grudges, and a frightening level of commitment.

The penthouse was already humming. Red-tinted light pooled across velvet couches and the coffee table Sylus once told you cost more than your entire apartment. Caleb was already there, because of course he was. He stood in the kitchenette unwrapping a tray of something that smelled like garlic and regret, and the seat directly beside the biggest couch had a worn leather jacket slung over it like a territorial flag.

Zayne had arrived exactly on time, naturally. His coat was already off and folded over the back of a chair with surgical precision. He sat at the far end of the table, sleeves rolled to the elbow, reading the rulebook of whatever game Sylus had stacked by the wine fridge like it was a patient's chart.

Rafayel hadn't arrived yet, which meant the dramatic entrance was still pending. Xavier was there, though. Slouched into the corner of the couch, eyes closed, breathing slow. He might've been asleep. He might've been cataloguing every word.

And then the door chimed again.

The table was set. The cards were waiting. Somewhere in the building, an artist was probably composing the world's most unnecessary entrance.

What do you want to play tonight?