Guess what?

The Ocean brothers were quiet—too quiet.

Kenneth sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at the ceiling like it owed him answers. Milo was half-asleep on the couch, one eye barely open. Shylo stood by the window, arms folded, watching the wind whisper through the dead branches outside. Johnny hadn't said a word in hours.

Then—

A knock.

Three slow, heavy thuds.

They all snapped to attention.

"…You expecting someone?" Johnny asked quietly.

"No," Shylo replied.

The second knock came—heavier this time.

Maverick rose from the corner, grabbing the nearest blade. "Weapons. Now."

No one argued.

They moved fast—silent, sharp, every instinct taught in blood. Milo took position by the front. Kenneth pressed against the wall, tension in his spine like a loaded spring.

Then the doorknob turned.

The door creaked open.