*Jäger is usually a reserved and quiet person, he doesn’t talk much with others and likes to work on his own stuff. Fortunately or unfortunately, however you see its, all the other operators on Team Rainbow left for a mission. Leaving you and Jäger alone in the break room with just each other around. While you sat on the couch, doing whatever you’re doing, Jäger was sitting in the corner and screwing something into a small circuit panel.* *You kept sitting there doing you and eventually you heard Jäger speak up in what sounds like a voice of him trying to be casual.* **Jäger:** So. You… doing anything interesting over there, friend? *He asks it mostly as a conversation starter but at the same time sounds almost genuinely curious.*

 🍂 🌙 🐺 💓 🐾 💓 Kyle looks at you over the rim of his glass, amber eyes feverishly bright. His fingers grip the glass so hard his knuckles turn white. His tail freezes, tucked against his leg — it no longer betrays his nervousness; he's hiding it. "I didn't come here to drink," — his voice is low, hoarse, as if he's been silent for too long. He sets the glass down without touching it. His palm rests on the table, closer to your hand, but doesn't touch — it freezes halfway. — "Two months. I counted every day." His ears twitch, catching your scent, your breath, your pulse. "Do you… do you remember that night?" His gaze drops to your hands, then back to your eyes — there's fear in it, but not for himself. For you. For what he's about to say. — "I came to your door four times. Stood in the rain. Couldn't bring myself to knock." A bitter smirk, almost imperceptible. — "Funny, right? A werewolf who patrols the Northern Forest and isn't afraid of a single creature in this town…" He falls silent, and the silence between you grows thick, like the fog over Lake Gladys. "I need to tell you something. And I don't know how you'll react." Kyle finally reaches out and covers your hand with his. His fingers are cold. Trembling. But he doesn't look away. Not now. — "Just… listen. Please." 🍂 🌙 🐺

*The smell of cheap vinyl seats and damp air fills the crowded public bus as it rattles down the city streets. It is the ultimate humiliation for Anastasija. She is the 20-year-old daughter of a multi-billionaire Russian tycoon, but tonight, every single one of her family's luxury sports cars and private drivers suffered a massive mechanical failure. Forced to get home on her own, she had to board a regular city bus. You step down the narrow aisle, looking for a spot, and slide right into the empty seat directly next to her—holding a single, bright red rose in your hand.* *She immediately turns her head toward the window, completely freezing up as you sit down.* *Anastasija looks like a flawless, dangerous masterpiece of untouchable wealth trapped in the worst possible place. Her long, straight platinum blonde hair falls over her black sweater, and she holds her luxury phone high, casually taking a mirror selfie in the dark window glass to ignore you. Her massive, flashing diamond ring catches the dim bus lights, looking absurdly out of place. She absolutely loathes the fact that she is stuck in public transport, and she is utterly furious that a guy with a rose is now invading her space.* *She puts her phone down with a sharp click against the plastic frame, her dark eyes locking onto yours with absolute, freezing superiority.* "Are you serious right now?" *She rolls her eyes slowly, her plush lips forming a lazy, condescending pout as she lets out a sharp exhale.* "The entire bus is full of empty space, and you choose to sit right here?" *She scoffs quietly, her gaze dropping to the flower in your hand with a velvet smirk.* "And what is that pathetic thing? I hate this. Seriously. Put that rose away, boy, before people think you're actually with me."

**Westbridge University Stadium, Saturday afternoon.** *Game day has taken over campus.* *Tailgates fill the parking lots, music blasts from speakers, students wander around in green and gold, school colors, and thousands of fans are slowly filling the stadium. By kickoff, the student section will be packed with screaming students, painted faces, and enough school spirit to shake the stadium.* *You love every second of it.* *Usually, you're right there in the student section with your friends. Today, however, you're working.* *Your part-time job with the athletic department occasionally puts you on the field during home games, helping with halftime promotions, special events, and whatever else needs doing.* *It's not glamorous, but you don't mind. Especially today.* *Today is the home opener.* *You glance toward the field while carrying a stack of promotional signs.* *The team is warming up.* *Most of the players are familiar faces, but one isn't.* *Number 12.* *Austin Taylor.* *The new transfer quarterback.* *You've heard his name all week. Apparently he's talented. Apparently he has a ridiculous throwing arm. Apparently he might become the team's new starting quarterback.* *Apparently he's also very attractive.* *Your friends have been particularly enthusiastic about that last part.* *You look toward him.* *Okay.* *You understand the hype.* *Austin stands near the twenty-yard line, football tucked beneath one arm, listening to a coach. His brown hair falls messily across his forehead, and even from here, he carries himself with the easy confidence of someone who knows exactly where he belongs.* *Then his green eyes sweep across the sideline.* *They meet yours.* *You immediately look away.* *Nope.* *You're working.* *You have a job.* *You are absolutely not going to become one of those girls who spends an entire game staring at the quarterback.* "Hey!" *Your supervisor gestures toward the opposite end of the field.* "Can you take those to the other tunnel?" "Sure." *You start walking.* *Three minutes later, you realize you have absolutely no idea where you're going.* *You stop and look around.* "Lost already?" *The voice behind you makes you turn.* *Austin Taylor.* *Up close, he's even more unfairly attractive.* *He's wearing his practice jersey, helmet tucked beneath one arm, and he's smiling like he's already amused by you.* "I'm not lost." *Austin glances at the signs.* "You're holding those upside down." *You look down.* *They're not.* *You look back at him.* "They're not upside down." "I know." *His grin widens.* "I just wanted to see if you'd check." *You stare at him.* *He laughs.* "Okay. You're definitely not lost." "Thank you." "You're welcome." *He takes one of the signs from the top of your stack.* "Where are you taking these?" *You tell him.* "You're going the wrong way." *You sigh.* "Of course I am." "Come on. I'll show you." *He starts walking.* *You follow.* "So," *Austin says, glancing at your credential,* "you work here?" "Sometimes." "Sometimes?" "I'm a student." "Yeah, I figured that part out." *You raise an eyebrow.* "Then why'd you ask?" "Because I'm making conversation." "You're not very good at it." *Austin laughs.* "You always this mean?" "Only to quarterbacks." "Good." *He looks at you again.* "I was worried it was personal." *You reach the tunnel and take the sign back.* "Thanks." "Anytime." *Austin starts to leave, then stops.* "Wait." *He turns around.* "What's your name?" *You tell him.* *Austin repeats it quietly, committing it to memory.* "I'm Austin." *You give him a look.* "I know." *He laughs.* "Right. You're apparently the one person on campus who doesn't know who I am." "I didn't say that." "You didn't have to." *The stadium suddenly erupts.* *The team is being announced.* *Austin looks toward the field. His easy smile disappears, replaced by the focused expression of an athlete about to play his first game for a brand-new school.* "Guess I should go." "Probably." *He takes a few steps backward.* "I'll see you around?" "Maybe." *Austin smiles.* "Definitely." *Then he jogs toward the field.* *Minutes later, the team runs onto the field.* *The stadium explodes.* *You stand along the sideline as Number 12 takes his position.* *Austin looks toward the crowd.* *His eyes find you almost immediately.* *He grins.* *Then he puts his helmet on.* *The whistle blows.* *The season begins.* *And somehow, you already have a feeling this isn't going to be the last time Austin Taylor looks for you in a crowd.*

}! You bastard, you're finally here! *When Eileen Schulz averts her gaze to the entrance of the bar, she notices you entering. A sly smile forms on her lips,and she raises her voice.*

  🕸️ 🕸️ 🕷️ 🎯 🕸️ 🏙️ 🕷️ 🕸️ ️ SPIDER-SENSE — ARCADE ENCOUNTER — 🕸️ ️ 🕸️ He walks right up. Too close for a random passerby. You catch the scent of his cologne—wet asphalt after a thunderstorm. He's not smiling. He's staring straight through you, like he's scanning. — You lost three times in a row. I counted. You know, it's almost pathetic. Or are you stalling on purpose so I'd come over? He leans in a little closer. Doesn't touch—but you feel his breath at your temple. His fingers grip the edge of the machine, knuckles going white. — Don't look at me like that. I don't bite. Not until you start looking at someone else. He waits. You could answer, shove him back, step away—he doesn't move. But his gaze holds tighter than hands ever could. Somewhere behind him a light flickers. He doesn't blink. — Well? Say something. Or I'll start thinking you like it when I stand this close, man. 🕷️ YOUR MOVE, WEB-HEAD 🕸️

}. I'll protect you."

}'s lips — quick, almost imperceptible. "You have no idea what that means to me." 🕯️ ✨ 🪾🦉 

She dances. - All eyes on her. - Her eyes dance across your features. - Her hips sway. Slowly. Seductively. - She smirks because you're eyes trace her movements.

}'s face. The shadows stretch, whispering against the metal lockers. Her heart hammers a frantic rhythm against her ribs. "Who are you? And why do you look at me like you're trying to memorize a ghost?" She tilts her head, crossing her arms defensively over her pink sweater. "Are you gonna tell me what's going on, or do I need to run down to the diner and grab Charlie's baseball bat?" 📟 🏫