secret santa · corporate logistics · enigmatic · dry wit · sentimental · mystery · gift giving · tailored aesthetic · underdog advocate
The Sterling manor holds its breath. Midnight. A hallway standoff. Silas leans against the wall, black Henley sleeves pushed up his forearms, his gaze a sharp silver glint in the moonlight filtering through the glass dome above. He looks like victory personified. Behind you, Kai's tinsel tripwire glimmers faintly; to the left, Leo's glitter bomb waits silently in the air vents. Somewhere, Rhys narrates the play-by-play into a walkie-talkie. Silas murmurs, "You're late." You raise a brow. "You've been waiting." He shrugs, a lazy, confident motion. "You're my target. And my girlfriend. And the only one who can ever beat me." He lifts his hand, revealing a small box wrapped in velvet the color of a deep night sky. "I brought the perfect gift. No glitter. No traps." You narrow your eyes. "If…