Arthur stared at the heart-shaped cookie.
The icing was pale pink. The letters piped on in perfect, dainty swirls:
"Told you I'd find him."
It sat like an ornament. Too perfect. Too placed.
And then—
Beep.
Arthur blinked.
Beep.
The sound was soft. Faint. Coming from beneath the cookie.
A slow, digital chirp. Like a smoke detector… or a countdown.
His heart dropped.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
He didn't hesitate.
Arthur turned and ran—not down the stairs, not toward the door.
He sprinted toward the window.
Adrenaline kicked in.
He dove—shoulder-first—through the open pane and into the air, glass and curtains whipping past him.
He hit the ground hard, landing on his side in the bushes with a crunch and a groan.
Then—BOOM.
A muffled, controlled explosion tore through the upstairs room. Not enough to level the house. But enough to blow out the windows. Smoke billowed out behind him. Sparks rained down like glitter from hell.
Arthur lay still for a moment, coughing. His left arm screamed in protest. Probably dislocated. Maybe worse.
But he was alive.
Rika had tried to kill him. Or scare him. Or both.
He rolled over, clutching his ribs, vision swimming.
Neighbors were already peeking out of doors. Shouting. Lights turning on. Sirens in the distance.
Arthur didn't wait for the cops. No time for statements. No time for questions.
He stumbled up, chest burning, knees shaky.
He had to find Eli.
Because if Rika had already come back—
If she'd planted that—
Then who knew what the others were planning.
He limped to his car, yanked open the driver's side, and slid in.
He didn't even care about the blood on the seat or the glass in his shoulder. He grabbed his phone with his one good arm and pulled up the last address Eli had used on Arthur's shared map app.
A diner. Twenty minutes out.
Arthur hit the gas. Tires screeched.
The house smoldered behind him.
And somewhere out there, Eli was walking directly into a net of women who loved him like addicts… and broke everything they touched.
Arthur wiped blood from his eye and muttered to himself:
"What a day"
Soon Arthur arrived to the diner.
The diner sat on the side of a long, empty road like a faded memory—its neon sign flickering, the parking lot half-swallowed by weeds. No cars. No people. Just the low hum of dying fluorescent light.
Arthur pulled in fast, slammed the brakes, and got out.
His ribs ached. His arm was still half-dead. His shirt was ripped and stained with soot and blood. But he didn't care.
The front door of the diner was unlocked.
He stepped inside.
The place was quiet—too quiet. The jukebox was on, but no music played. The air stank faintly of burnt coffee and something else—metallic. Like rust. Or blood.
Arthur scanned the room.
Booth cushions slashed. A napkin dispenser knocked over. A half-shattered plate on the counter.
Something had gone down here.
Something quick. Violent. Disguised as nothing.
He walked deeper into the diner, each footstep crunching against broken glass.
A smear of red on the linoleum caught his eye.
It wasn't fresh. But it hadn't been there long either.
"Eli?" he called out, voice low.
Nothing.
He moved toward the back—past the register, past the swinging kitchen doors—then stopped when he heard the bell above the entrance chime behind him.
Arthur turned quickly, ready for anything.
A girl stood in the doorway. Young—maybe early twenties. Long black coat. Clean-cut bob haircut. Round glasses. Her hands were raised in a non-threatening gesture.
"I'm not here to hurt you," she said calmly.
Arthur didn't lower his stance. "Who are you?"
She stepped in slowly.
"My name's Kali. I know what's going on with Eli. And I'm not like them."
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "You're saying that like I should believe it."
"I wouldn't," Kali replied. "Not yet. But I've been watching this unfold for a while."
"Watching?"
"I'm not one of his stalker weirdos," she said quickly. "I don't want his blood or his heart. I want answers. And I want him safe."
Arthur still didn't move.
Kali looked around the diner. Her expression darkened when she saw the damage.
"Damn it," she muttered. "I told him to stay mobile. He was supposed to pass through—not stop."
"Did you see who did this?"
"No," Kali said. "But if I had to guess? Valeria. She's efficient. Clinical. She wouldn't leave blood unless it meant something."
Arthur stepped closer. "Why should I trust you?"
"You shouldn't. But you're bleeding, and your friend's gone, and the ones chasing him play by their rules—not yours. So unless you want to fight psychotic geniuses and armed stalkers alone with a bent ladle…" she held out a USB drive. "Let me help."
Arthur stared at it. Then slowly reached out and took it.
Kali's voice dropped to a whisper.
"They're not all coming for him at once. They're playing a game. A sick, romantic game."
Arthur's stomach turned.
"And what's your role in it?"
She smiled faintly.
"Wild card."
The diner's back office was dim, the overhead light flickering in fits. An ancient desktop hummed on the desk beside a dust-covered register. Kali wiped the monitor with her sleeve, shoved in the USB drive, and nodded for Arthur to sit.
He hesitated.
His arm still ached, his ribs throbbed, and the faint scorch marks on his clothes made him look like a crash-test dummy that barely passed the final run.
But he sat.
The computer pinged softly.
A single folder appeared on the screen:
"E.IV - Archive"
Arthur gave Kali a side glance. "E.IV?"
"Eli's full name," she said. "Eli Ivan Voss. Lucienne started the archive. The others added to it."
She clicked the folder open.
Five subfolders appeared, each labeled with a name.
Rika
Valeria
Noemi
Lucienne
Kali
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You have your own folder."
"I didn't make it," Kali said flatly.
They opened Rika's first.
Inside: a series of videos, photos, hand-written scanned notes.
Arthur's stomach turned.
"She's been documenting everything," he muttered.
Images flicked by—Eli asleep on a park bench, Eli talking to a stranger at a coffee shop, Eli buying cough drops at 2 a.m.
In one video, dated months ago, Rika spoke directly into the camera.
"He was cold today. Said he needed space. I think it's because of that girl from the record store. I followed her home. She lives alone."
Arthur exhaled slowly. "Jesus."
Kali didn't blink. "Rika's obsessed with being 'first.' She builds a version of Eli in her head, and when reality doesn't match, she tries to fix him."
They moved to Valeria's folder.
This one was different. Organized. Clean.
Excel sheets.
Schedules.
Psych profiles.
Behavioral logs.
Trigger patterns.
Conflict analysis models.
"She treats him like a project," Arthur said.
"Valeria was part of a psychological operations division overseas," Kali explained. "High-functioning. Dangerous. Eli made the mistake of confiding in her during a panic attack once. She built a whole mental schema around his trauma and now thinks she's the only one who can stabilize him."
Arthur muttered, "From trauma to trophy."
Then came Noemi.
The folder was encrypted. Kali typed fast, breaking through two layers before the files opened.
Arthur leaned forward.
"This isn't just stalking," he whispered. "This is surveillance-grade."
Inside were GPS trackers and phone clone logs—time-stamped texts, deleted calls, even voice memos.
"She cloned all his devices," Kali said. "Tracked him across twenty-six different cities. At least two burner phones are hers. You ever get random spam texts? Probably her testing routing systems."
Arthur felt cold. "She built a digital cage."
"She doesn't see it that way," Kali said. "To Noemi, Eli disappears because people always abandon her. She's not tracking him—she's trying to make sure he still exists."
Arthur leaned back in the chair, heart pounding.
Last was Lucienne.
Kali opened it wordlessly.
Unlike the others, Lucienne's folder wasn't full of messy obsession or cold data.
It was filled with contracts.
NDAs. Purchase orders. Confidential therapy transcripts.
"She bought access to him," Arthur said quietly.
Kali nodded. "She helped fund a clinic that treated Eli for a breakdown two years ago. She never let him know she was behind it. But she's always been two steps ahead of the others. Cold. Controlled. Strategic."
Arthur rubbed his face.
"This isn't a coincidence," he said. "They're circling him. Not just emotionally. Tactically. Like predators with different methods."
Kali sat down beside him.
"I used to admire Lucienne. Until I realized she doesn't want Eli free. She wants him dependent."
Arthur's eyes drifted to the final, strange detail—
A tiny subfolder labeled "Failsafes."
He opened it.
Inside were backup plans. Escape routes. Emergency protocols. Some made by Lucienne. Some by others. But one file caught Arthur's eye.
A text file titled:
"IF ARTHUR KEEN INTERFERES.txt"
He clicked.
And read the first line.
"Arthur is a variable. Sentimental. Protective. Non-lethal. But he's predictable. Use guilt. Use Eli. High probability of calling for his old friends."
He stared at it for a long time.
Kali's voice was quiet.
"They expect you to follow. You're part of the game."
Arthur closed the window.
And said, "Damn… this is one big mess Eli's got me into"
Arthur stood outside the diner beneath the blinking neon sign, the cool night air biting against his burns and bruises.
Kali waited inside, giving him space.
The flash drive was still in his pocket. The words from the failsafe file rang in his skull on repeat.
Arthur is a variable. Sentimental. Predictable
He scoffed quietly to himself.
They weren't wrong.
He'd tried to be the "normal one." The background piece. The guy who'd serve coffee at someone else's funeral and go back to his job on Monday like nothing happened.
But this wasn't normal. This was insanity with a carefully crafted agenda.
And now Eli was gone.
Taken—or worse, willingly surrendered—to someone who loved him like a textbook.
Arthur took a shaky breath, leaned on the hood of the car, and pulled out his phone.
He scrolled past recent calls. Past texts from Lucienne long before today. Past Eli.
Then—he paused.
A dusty old group chat buried under playlists and bank notifications.
"The Booger squad"
Last message: 3 years ago.
From: Eli.
"Next time, no beer pong. Just fireworks and regret."
Arthur stared at the names.
Eli – The reckless one.
Desmond – The ex-EMT who got kicked out of nursing school for... reasons.
Jay – Tech wizard and probable arsonist.
Miguel – The only man to cry during both Die Hard and Fast & Furious 6.
They were chaos. Unfiltered. Loud. Messy.
But they were his.
He thumbed the mic icon. Hesitated. Then hit record.
"Hey… I know it's been a while. Three years, in fact.And I know we all said we were gonna move on, grow up, and not burn down anymore community centers— But Eli's in real trouble Not drama. Not heartbreak. Real. People are after him. And I can't do this alone. So if any of you still give a damn… meet me. One last time. Let's save this idiot."
He hit send.
No dramatic music. No instant replies.
Just the message—delivered and seen by no one. Yet.
He sat down on the curb.
"What are friends for, huh"
After a moment, Kali walked out and sat beside him.
"Broadcasting a prayer?" she asked softly.
"Calling a bunch of idiots," Arthur muttered.
"You think they'll come?"
"They used to fight each other over who got to be Eli's best man in his future wedding," Arthur said. "They lit a barbecue on fire once because someone said Eli looked better in red than black."
Kali snorted.
"They'll come," Arthur said. "If they don't... I'll go alone."
He leaned back, exhaled.
Kali looked at him a long moment.
"You're not like the others," she said. "You don't love Eli like they do."
Arthur didn't answer right away.
"No. He's my brother."
He looked up at the sky.
"Because brothers don't walk away."