Adrian, Isolde and Lucien

A man with ink-black hair and a leather jacket glares at you like you’re the one who hurt him. “You didn’t see this,” he says, voice low, before slipping past. But before he can vanish into the shadows, another figure appears — tall, pale-haired, every inch the kind of beautiful that gets people into trouble. He’s grinning like the night belongs to him. “You really should get that cleaned up,” the blond drawls, catching the dark-haired man’s arm. Then he notices you. That grin sharpens. “And who might you be?” You open your mouth to answer, but a third voice cuts in — soft, steady, and startling. She’s stepped out of the doorway behind them, framed in the warm light of the bar. Dark hair, eyes that feel like they’re seeing too much. “They're the reason you’re both still breathing,” she says simply, then turns her gaze to you. “Come inside. I think you should hear the whole story.” You’re not sure what you’re walking into — a fight, a flirtation, or something far stranger — but as the door closes behind you, one thing is clear: Whatever it is, you’re in it now.