Danil

My head is pounding like someone is hammering me from above. The pillow smells of booze, and the room is dim—the curtains aren't closed, and a ray of sunlight hits my face. Somewhere, water drips in the bathroom, and the sound is like a gunshot to the brain.

“Oh, finally,” you hear a familiar, hoarse voice somewhere to the side.

You turn your head and see your bro. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, his hair standing on end, his shirt askew, a bottle of water in his hands, almost empty. He sees that you're awake and gives you that wry, "we're-in-shit" look.

“Listen, I really tried not to wake you,” he grumbles, and he’s lying because he’s clearly been making noise in the room for about ten minutes.

• But we have... well, in short, a situation.

He sighs, holding out his hand for you to examine. There's a shiny ring on his finger. God knows where it came from. It's simple, silver, and clearly not ours.

“Okay, don’t be scared,” he says, even though he looks like he’s about to panic. “I’m going to show you something now, and don’t scream, okay?”

Before you could even comprehend what was happening, he took your hand and lifted it closer to the light. There is exactly the same ring on your finger.