The morning after the impromptu game night felt different. The air in apartment 2B, usually thick with the scent of stale pizza and Mike's cologne, seemed lighter. A half-eaten bag of chips and a few empty soda cans on the coffee table were the only remnants of the strange, wonderful night.
"I'm telling you, she was cheating," Mike grumbled from the kitchen, pouring cereal into a bowl. "No one is that good at 'Galactic Overlords' on their first try. It's not possible."
"Maybe a thousand years of existence sharpens your hand-eye coordination," Sam retorted from the couch, scrolling through his phone. "She's not a cheater, Mike. She's just better than you."
Leo smiled from his spot at the table, sketching in his book. He was drawing the four of them on the couch, illuminated by the TV's glow. For the first time, he drew Elara with a small, genuine smile. The monster was gone, replaced by their weird, ancient, ridiculously skilled neighbour.
A firm, authoritative knock on the door cut through their morning banter. It wasn't the mailman.
Sam sighed and got up to answer it. When he opened the door, the lighthearted atmosphere in the room instantly evaporated. Officer Kross stood in the hallway, his posture rigid, his face a mask of professional gravity. He was flanked by two other uniformed officers.
"Sam, is it?" Kross asked, his eyes already scanning the apartment over Sam's shoulder. "I'm Officer Kross. I'm leading the investigation into the recent deaths in this area. We need to ask you and your roommates a few questions."
Sam's blood ran cold. He stepped back, allowing the officers to enter. Mike and Leo stood up, their expressions tense. Kross's gaze swept over the messy room before landing on the three of them, cold and calculating.
"As you may know," Kross began, his voice a low, steady drone of authority, "we've had several victims, all male, found in a... peculiar state. Puncture wounds to the neck, significant blood loss, no signs of a struggle. It's been baffling the department."
He paused, letting the silence hang in the air. "But I have a theory. I believe we're looking for a female perpetrator. A predator of a different sort."
He began to pace slowly, like a lecturer in front of a class. "Our killer is smart. She's attractive. She finds her victims, lonely men, and seduces them. She gets them somewhere private, drugs them with a powerful sedative—that's why there's no struggle. Once they're unconscious, she does her work."
Kross stopped and looked directly at them, a thin, predatory smile on his lips. "She uses a specialized instrument, something thin and sharp, to drain their blood. Why? A ritual? A fetish? Who knows. The point is, she's a black widow. A manipulative, deviant woman preying on the men of this town."
The boys listened in stunned silence, a cold dread pooling in their stomachs. They knew exactly where this was going.
"And it just so happens," Kross continued, his voice dropping, "that these killings started right around the time a new girl moved into this very building. A woman who keeps to herself, who comes and goes at odd hours, and who I personally witnessed wandering the streets alone late last night."
His eyes narrowed, all pretense of professional detachment gone. He was a hunter who had cornered his prey.
"So," he said, his voice hard as steel. "I'm going to ask you three one time. Where is she? Where is Elara?"
The question landed like a stone. In that split second, Leo, Sam, and Mike all looked at each other. A silent, frantic conversation passed between them. They saw the truth in Kross's eyes—not a search for justice, but a twisted, misogynistic crusade. They remembered Elara's story, the loneliness in her voice, the simple, quiet warmth of the night before. The choice was made before a single word was spoken.
Sam, his face a mask of calm he did not feel, stepped forward.
"We don't know, Officer," he said, his voice steady. "We haven't seen her all morning. She pretty much keeps to herself."
Officer Kross's eyes bored into him, searching for a crack. He didn't find one. A flicker of cold fury passed over his face before being replaced by his thin, professional smile.
"Is that so?" he said softly. "Well, you should know that hindering a police investigation is a serious crime. If you happen to see your neighbour, you'll contact me immediately. It would be in your best interest."
He handed Sam a card. "For your own good, boys."
With a final, sweeping glare around the room, Kross and his officers turned and left.
The moment the door clicked shut, the three of them let out a collective breath they hadn't realized they were holding. The safe, messy apartment suddenly felt like a trap. The game was over. A new one, with stakes that were terrifyingly real, had just begun. And they had just chosen their side.