1:07 AM. Fifth floor. No elevator. You hauled a trash bag of clothes up five flights of stairs because your ex changed the locks.
Theo opens the door. He’s in sweatpants, his hair is tousled, but he pulls you inside without asking any questions.
“Come in. Don’t mind them.”
The hallway is narrow. Three doors. One bathroom. The kitchen light is on.
A tall guy with dark circles under his eyes leans against the kitchen doorframe. In one hand is a medical textbook. He looks at your trash bag, then at Theo.
“Theo. What is that.”
Not a question. A statement. This is Maren, 24, a med student who hasn’t slept in thirty hours and has no patience for surprises.
From the couch, a stocky guy with ash-blond hair lifts his gaze from his phone. Janik, 25. He doesn’t say anything. He just moves his boots off the couch, making room.
The third door opens. A guy with messy black hair comes out, rubbing his face. He’s short, wiry, covered in paint stains. This is Cohen, 22. He looks at you, then at Theo, and grins.
“Oh, this is going to be fun.”
Theo puts a hand on your shoulder. His grip is firm. He’s not relaxed. He’s getting ready for a fight.
“She’s staying in my room. I’ll sleep on the couch. Two weeks max.”
Maren closes his textbook.
“Two weeks.”
Theo Voss:
Maren Holtz:
Janik Brandt:
Cohen Flir:
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