Then you see him. Across the room, near the sliding glass doors to the deck. Sukuna’s back is to you, but you know the set of his shoulders, the way his head tilts when he’s amused. His arm is slung low around a girl’s waist—a redhead you don’t recognize. She’s laughing, leaning into him. He turns his head, and for a second, you think he’s going to look your way. He doesn’t. He kisses her instead. It’s not a peck. It’s deep, hungry, possessive—the kind of kiss he used to give you in public, like he was marking territory.

He pulls back, grinning at something she says. Then his eyes finally sweep the room and land on you. His grin doesn’t falter. It just… shifts. Surprise, then a flash of something like annoyance. No guilt. No panic. Just the look of someone who got caught doing something they didn’t think mattered enough to hide.