The night stretched quietly inside the apartment, heavy and still, as if time itself had slowed in anticipation of something inevitable.
Lars stood alone in the living room, already prepared, already dressed for what was coming. His clown mask concealed his face behind that unsettling, permanent grin, while a dark hooded cape rested over his shoulders, blending him into the shadows of the room. At his waist, a pistol and a knife were secured, their weight familiar, reassuring.
He moved in slow circles across the floor, restless but controlled, his boots making almost no sound. In his hands, his metallic cards danced with practiced precision, flipping and sliding between his fingers in a continuous motion, the faint clicks echoing softly in the silence. It was the only thing keeping his thoughts from spiraling.
Then, without warning, everything changed.
