"No."

Lucien stared at himself in the mirror with the expression of a man moments away from filing a formal complaint against God.

"Absolutely not."

Jamie clutched his chest dramatically from the bed behind him.

"Oh, babe. You look adorable."

"That is exactly the problem."

Lucien turned sideways.

The costume somehow looked worse from every angle.

It was technically a one-piece outfit, though calling it clothing felt generous. Soft cream-colored fabric clung to his torso and hips, plush enough to look warm without actually providing warmth. The shorts were criminally short, disappearing high on his thighs in gathered folds.

And behind him—

Lucien closed his eyes.

The tail.

A tiny white puffball sewn directly above his ass.

Humiliation made physical.

Jamie made a strangled noise.

"Oh my God."

Lucien narrowed his eyes suspiciously in the mirror.

"What now?"

"You're blushing."

"I hate you."

Jamie launched himself off the bed and immediately grabbed the tail.

"Tiny lamb." He shook it once between his fingers. "I'm obsessed with you."

Lucien smacked his hand away.

"Stop touching it."

"Can't."

"Jamie."

"You're literally built for this aesthetic."

Lucien groaned and covered his face.

Three months ago, he had been a reasonably normal art student.

Now he was standing in a WK dorm room dressed like emotionally vulnerable livestock.

Life came at people very fast.

Jamie bounced behind him holding two fuzzy clips.

"Hold still."

Lucien immediately backed away.

"No."

"Yes."

"Jamie—"

The clips snapped into his hair before he could escape.

Lucien froze.

Slowly, carefully, he looked back at the mirror.

Small white lamb ears sat on top of his dark hair.

Soft.

Fluffy.

Pink inside.

Lucien stared at himself for a full five seconds.

Then covered his face again.

"Merde."

Jamie collapsed onto the bed laughing.

"That's it. We're done. You win the party."

"There was not supposed to be a winner."

"There absolutely was, and unfortunately for the rest of campus, it's you."

Lucien groaned louder.

"Why are Americans like this?"

"Excuse you. This is art."

Jamie shoved a fox-ear headband onto his own head.

"There. I'm Fox Boy. You're Lamb Boy. The ecosystem is balanced."

Lucien looked at him flatly.

"You look like you vape near high schools."

Jamie gasped.

"That was deeply personal."

Lucien grabbed his hoodie from the chair.

"I'm changing."

Jamie lunged across the room and physically grabbed his arm.

"No, you are not."

"Yes, I am."

"You need rich drunk people."

"I can find rich drunk people while dressed like a human being."

"Counterargument." Jamie pointed at him dramatically. "Nobody says no to a sad little lamb."

Lucien opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Unfortunately, Jamie had a point.

A deeply humiliating point.

"Besides," Jamie added smoothly, "don't you still need rent money?"

Lucien immediately stopped fighting.

Poverty remained the strongest force in the universe.

Twenty minutes later, he was being dragged into the party wearing the lamb costume.

Dignity deceased.

Cause of death: capitalism.

—

Lucien had expected loud music.

Maybe neon lights.

Crowded dance floors.

Something resembling every American teen drama he'd ever half-watched while procrastinating homework.

Instead, the party looked like the entrance to a cult.

The moment they stepped inside, warm amber light spilled across uneven stone walls. The entire venue resembled an underground cavern carved directly into the earth.

No normal tables.

No chairs.

Just low stone platforms scattered between alcoves lit by candles.

Music pulsed low through the walls like a heartbeat.

And everywhere—

Animals.

A girl with antlers laughed near the bar.

Someone wearing wolf ears leaned against a pillar with a drink in hand.

A boy dressed as a tiger walked past carrying another man over his shoulder.

Lucien stopped moving.

For one deeply alarming second, it genuinely felt like he had wandered into another world.

Like the rules had changed underground.

Jamie whistled.

"Oh, this is going to ruin somebody's life."

Lucien was afraid to ask whether he meant the party or the costume.

Probably both.

A tall guy wearing fake horns approached Jamie immediately.

Jamie lit up.

"Honey!"

The man grabbed Jamie by the waist and kissed him without hesitation.

Lucien looked away so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

Europe had prepared him for many things.

Americans with no shame apparently remained outside his cultural range.

Jamie pulled back just enough to grin at Lucien.

"You'll survive alone for a bit, right?"

Lucien blinked.

"What?"

"I'll find you later."

Then Jamie disappeared with Horn Guy deeper into the crowd.

Lucien watched them go just long enough to witness a very large hand slide directly onto Jamie's ass.

He snapped his head away instantly.

Okay.

Fine.

Good for them.

Wonderful.

Lucien inhaled deeply.

Focus.

He was here for one reason.

Sell the ticket.

That was it.

No socializing.No emotional damage.No accidental cult participation.

Simple.

The problem was figuring out who here had enough money to casually spend four thousand dollars.

Everybody looked ridiculous.

A wolf mask could still hide a broke graduate student.

Lucien wandered slowly through the cavern-like hall, scanning watches, shoes, body language.

Nothing.

Near one curtained alcove, he paused.

Muted noises drifted from behind the fabric.

Lucien frowned.

Then, against every survival instinct he possessed, peeked inside.

Two people were making out hard enough to qualify as cardio.

Lucien jerked backward instantly.

One of them looked up.

A blond man sitting against the wall smirked lazily.

"Well." His eyes traveled over Lucien's costume. "Cute little lamb."

Lucien's face caught fire.

"Sorry," he blurted. "Sorry. I didn't know—"

"You wanna join?"

Lucien nearly died.

"No!"

The word came out several octaves too high.

The blond man laughed.

Lucien fled.

Actually fled.

Behind him, he vaguely heard a woman's voice:

"You never told me you liked guys."

The blond answered easily.

"Honey, if I liked guys, do you think I'd survive around Leon Bolton?"

Lucien disappeared around the corner before hearing the rest.

His face burned all the way down his neck.

Okay.

Fine.

Different culture.

Very open-minded.

Nobody panic.

Lucien pressed both hands against his cheeks.

"Get yourself together," he muttered in French.

He took a breath.

Then another.

The ticket.

Focus on the ticket.

He looked up.

And realized immediately that he was lost.

The lighting here was dimmer than the main hall.

The tunnel-like corridors twisted strangely through the rock walls, shadows pooling thickly in corners.

Ahead, everything dissolved into darkness.

Lucien stopped moving.

A deeply American horror-movie feeling settled into his stomach.

This was exactly where people got murdered.

Specifically pretty exchange students with poor decision-making skills.

He should go back.

Immediately.

Lucien turned—

Then froze.

Someone sat farther down the corridor.

A man.

Alone.

One arm draped lazily over the back of a stone bench.

Smoke curled upward from between his fingers.

Lucien hesitated.

The man didn't move.

Just sat there in the shadows scrolling through his phone.

Then Lucien noticed the watch.

Even in the dark, diamonds caught the low candlelight sharply enough to flash.

Expensive.

Very expensive.

Lucien's heartbeat changed direction immediately.

Rich.

Found one.

He edged closer carefully.

The man extinguished the cigarette.

Then looked up.

Lucien stopped breathing.

The mask covering the upper half of the man's face resembled a wolf skull forged from black metal.

Ancient-looking.

Cold.

The gray-blue eyes behind it fixed directly onto Lucien.

Predatory.

For one ridiculous second, Lucien genuinely felt like prey.

Like the soft little lamb costume had become spiritually binding.

The man said nothing.

Just watched him.

The pressure of that gaze settled heavily against Lucien's skin.

He swallowed.

Then forced himself forward anyway.

Rent money.

He needed rent money more than dignity.

"Hello, sir," Lucien said carefully.

Closer now, he realized the man wasn't wearing a themed costume at all.

Just dark slacks.A black dress shirt.Rolled sleeves.

Simple.

But the fabric stretched tightly across broad shoulders and thick muscle beneath.

Lucien's brain supplied a phrase automatically.

Violence in formalwear.

The man leaned back slightly, one hand braced against his temple.

"Yeah?"

The voice hit Lucien strangely.

Low.Rough.Familiar somehow.

Lucien ignored the feeling.

Business first.

"Do you like boxing?" he asked.

One eyebrow lifted above the wolf mask.

"Depends."

"On what?"

"Who's fighting?"

Lucien brightened instantly.

Perfect.

Perfect.

"It's Leon Bolton's championship," he said quickly. "You know him, right? He's very famous. Very good at…"

Lucien made one tiny punching motion into the air.

"…combat."

Silence.

The man stared at him.

Then slowly leaned back farther against the stone seat.

Interesting.

So this was the counterfeit seller.

The infamous "Grease Rat."

Leon almost laughed.

The police reports made it sound like some hardened scam artist.

Not a nervous little thing in lamb ears.

Up close, the boy looked even softer.

Dark hair.Pale skin.Big eyes.

Too pretty.

Leon's gaze dropped briefly.

Tiny tail.

Jesus Christ.

Maybe it was a strategy.

Pretend to look harmless.Make people lower their guard.

Smart.

Leon's mouth curved faintly beneath the mask.

"And how much," he asked mildly, "are you selling this ticket for?"

Lucien glanced once at the watch.

Then made the worst financial decision of his life.

"Four thousand."

Leon nearly smiled.

Bold.

Very bold.

"Four thousand dollars?"

Lucien panicked immediately.

Too high.

Shit.

"The price is negotiable," he said quickly.

"No."

Lucien blinked.

Leon stood.

The movement was slow.Unhurried.Terrifying.

Lucien had not fully understood how large this man was while sitting down.

Standing, he felt overwhelming.

Lucien barely reached his chest.

"Four thousand is fine," Leon said calmly.

Lucien's heartbeat skyrocketed.

Sold.

Holy shit.

Sold.

"But not here."

Leon adjusted the cuff of his shirt.

"Let's trade somewhere quieter."

Lucien looked around.

The hallway already seemed quiet enough to commit crimes in comfortably.

Still.

Rich people were weird.

"Okay," he agreed obediently.

Leon turned.

Lucien followed.

The size difference became aggressively noticeable while walking behind him.

Broad back. Long stride. Shoulders wide enough to block half the corridor.

Lucien frowned silently.

How did American men get this big?

He was still five-seven.Still built like decorative furniture.

Meanwhile this man looked capable of carrying motorcycles recreationally.

Rude.

Lucien remained busy being offended by genetics long enough to realize they had left the main venue entirely.

The back exit opened into darkness.

No music. No people. No lights.

Just empty night air.

Lucien slowed.

A bad feeling crawled quietly down his spine.

The man kept walking.

Lucien hurried after him instinctively.

"Sir?"

The wolf mask turned slightly.

"What payment method do you prefer?" Lucien asked nervously. "Cash is okay too."

The man stopped.

Then looked at him fully for the first time.

Gray-blue eyes beneath black metal.

Cold.

"A lamb," he said softly, "should really learn to stay away from wolves."

Lucien blinked.

What?

Before his brain could catch up, the man moved.

Fast.

One second Lucien stood beside him.

The next, his wrist was twisted sharply behind his back.

Lucien gasped.

A large hand pressed between his shoulder blades.

Cold stone slammed against his chest.

Shock shot through him instantly.

"What—?!"

The man leaned close enough for Lucien to feel warmth through the thin costume.

"Easy," the stranger murmured.

Calm.

Controlled.

Dangerous.

"Game's over, little scammer."