Jamie Carter woke alone in a hotel bed that looked as if six people had fought in it.

His shirt hung from the chandelier. Five pearl buttons glittered across the carpet. A lamp leaned drunkenly against the wall, and one white pillow carried a streak of blood.

Jamie sat up too quickly.

Pain split his skull. His stomach rolled. The sheet slid to his waist, revealing black dress pants, one sock, and nothing else.

“Oh, God.”

His phone lay beneath an overturned ice bucket. Five names filled the screen.

ETHAN — 7 missed calls.

NOAH — 11 missed calls.

MASON — 4 missed calls.

CALEB — 9 missed calls.

LUCAS — 2 missed calls and one message.

DON’T ASK US SEPARATELY.

Jamie stared at it until the words doubled.

The bathroom mirror made everything worse.

Red marks crossed his neck and collarbone. One dark bruise curved beneath his jaw. A smaller mark burned above his hip, visible through the gap where his shirt should have been.

He remembered birthday drinks at the Halcyon Hotel bar. Noah ordering champagne. Mason stealing the olives from Jamie’s martini. Ethan loosening his tie after midnight. Caleb telling them all to slow down. Lucas watching from the end of the booth.

After that, nothing.

Jamie found a clean hotel robe and called the only person he trusted to give him a direct answer.

Caleb rejected the call.

Thirty seconds later, all five roommates appeared in the group chat.

ETHAN: Where are you?

NOAH: Don’t leave the room alone.

MASON: Please answer.

CALEB: Are you dizzy? Any trouble breathing?

LUCAS: Lock the door.

Jamie typed with shaking fingers.

ME: Which one of you was here?

No one answered.

That silence frightened him more than the bruises.

He took a cab to Brooklyn wearing the hotel robe beneath his winter coat. Their converted brownstone stood on a quiet Park Slope block, elegant enough to suggest none of its six residents survived on takeout noodles and arguments about laundry.

The front door opened before Jamie touched the lock.

Ethan Cole stood there in yesterday’s black suit. The corporate attorney was usually immaculate. This morning, his tie was gone, his hair was disordered, and a purple bruise shadowed his cheekbone.

His gray eyes moved over Jamie once, fast and thorough.

“Are you hurt?”

Jamie pushed past him. “That’s what I’m here to find out.”

The others waited in the living room.

Noah Bennett, their shameless personal trainer, paced beside the fireplace in a sleeveless shirt. Mason Reed sat forward on the couch, twisting his hands. Dr. Caleb Morgan stood near the window with a medical bag. Lucas Hayes occupied the darkest corner, silent behind his laptop.

All five looked exhausted.

All five looked guilty.

Jamie removed his coat.

The hotel robe fell open at the throat.

Every man in the room went still.

Jamie hated that his body reacted to their attention. Heat traveled under his skin, colliding with fear. He tightened the belt.

“I’m going to ask once.” His voice cracked, so he tried again. “Which one of you was in my bed last night?”

Noah’s gaze dropped toward Jamie’s waist.

“Your waist felt exactly like that last night.”

Jamie recoiled. “Excuse me?”

Noah raised both hands. The teasing expression he wore like armor vanished. “That sounded worse than I meant.”

“How could it sound better?”

Mason stood. He still wore the pale blue shirt from dinner, though a dark stain covered one cuff.

His eyes fixed on the mark above Jamie’s collarbone.

“Did I disappoint you?” Mason asked softly.

Jamie’s mouth went dry.

Caleb snapped his medical bag open. “Before this goes further, I need to examine those marks.”

“Nobody touches me until somebody tells me what happened.”

Lucas closed his laptop and crossed the room. He turned the dead bolt, then activated the security panel.

Jamie watched the display flash red.

“Why are you locking me in?”

“I’m locking someone else out,” Lucas said.

“Who?”

Lucas looked toward Ethan.

Ethan’s jaw tightened. He approached Jamie with the controlled stillness he used in courtrooms. He stopped close enough that Jamie could smell cedar and last night’s smoke.

“May I look at your neck?”

The question caught Jamie off guard.

Not a command. Not an assumption.

Jamie nodded once.

Ethan lifted one hand and touched two fingers beneath Jamie’s chin. He tilted Jamie’s face toward the light, careful not to touch the bruises.

The contact was minimal. It still sent a sharp pulse through Jamie’s stomach.

Ethan noticed.

His eyes darkened, but his hand immediately dropped.

“Some of those marks were already there before you lost consciousness,” he said.

“How do you know?”

“Because I saw them happen.”

Jamie looked from one man to the next. “Was I with someone?”

Noah stopped pacing.

Mason lowered his eyes.

Caleb’s shoulders became rigid.

Lucas watched Jamie as though preparing to catch him.

Ethan spoke first.

“There is something you need to understand about me.”

“This is a strange time for a personality inventory.”

“I’m gay, Jamie.”

The room seemed to contract.

Jamie laughed once, because his brain had run out of useful responses. “All right.”

Ethan didn’t smile.

“And I have wanted you for two years.”

Jamie stepped backward.

His shoulders hit a solid chest. Noah’s hands closed around his waist automatically, steadying him.

Jamie gasped.

Memory flashed—large hands at his waist, a voice beside his ear, laughter against his throat.

He twisted away.

Noah released him at once.

“I’m sorry,” Noah said. “You were falling.”

“That’s what you said last night.”

Five faces changed.

Jamie pressed both hands to his temples. A fragment surfaced: red hotel curtains, Ethan’s loosened tie, Mason’s mouth near his collarbone, Caleb saying his name sharply.

Then Lucas’s voice, low and close.

Tell me yes, Jamie. I need to hear it.

Jamie stared at Lucas.

“You asked me for permission.”

Lucas’s expression revealed nothing. “Yes.”

“Permission to do what?”

“I won’t answer while you’re remembering in fragments.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“He’s right,” Caleb said. “We need to establish whether you were drugged.”

“Drugged?”

Mason moved closer, then stopped outside Jamie’s reach. “You didn’t drink enough to explain what happened.”

Jamie’s fear became anger because anger was easier to hold.

“Tell me who took me to the hotel.”

“Ethan carried you,” Noah said.

“Who undressed me?”

Mason swallowed. “I changed your shirt.”

“Who put their hands on my waist?”

“I did,” Noah answered.

“Who left the medical marks?”

Caleb raised one hand. “Me.”

Jamie looked at Lucas. “And you?”

“I had the room key.”

Jamie’s pulse hammered. “So Ethan’s the one who stayed in my bed?”

Ethan’s bruised face went unreadable.

Lucas stepped between them.

“You asked which one of us entered Room 1708,” he said.

His gaze traveled over the other four men.

“The answer is all five.”

The room seemed to tilt again, although Jamie was sitting perfectly still.

“That isn’t an answer,” he said. “That’s the beginning of a crime documentary.”

Noah winced. Mason stared at the floor. Ethan’s lawyer-calm finally cracked.

Lucas set his phone on the table but kept both hands visible. “Then let us begin with what we know. You invited us upstairs. You were speaking clearly. Later, your condition changed fast. We realized something was wrong, and nobody touched you sexually after that.”

Jamie searched every face for hesitation. He found fear, guilt, and something warmer that frightened him more than either.

“Why leave me alone?”

“We didn’t,” Caleb said. “Not until hotel security forced us into the hallway during a fire alarm. When they let us back, you were gone. We found you in a second room registered under your name.”

Jamie’s mouth went dry. “I woke in 1708.”

Lucas nodded once. “We put you in 1712.”

That difference changed the shape of the night. Someone had not merely entered his room. Someone had moved him.

Jamie closed his fingers around the room key until the edge bit his palm.

“Nobody leaves this house,” he said. “Nobody deletes anything. And none of you gets to protect me with half the truth.”

For once, all five obeyed without argument.