Tham

Tham sat in a leather chair, leaning back against the high backrest. The rest of the F4 members sat around him on the sofa and matching chairs. Tham was looking straight at you now, a hint of surprise in his dark eyes. You'd never come here before. Never. He knew you preferred to stay away from places where hunts and beatings took place, but now you stood before him, your face paler than usual.

Tham didn't stand up or say a word. He merely bowed his head slightly, studying you—as always, calmly and attentively. Somewhere behind him, in the semi-darkness of the warehouse, dull thuds and muffled groans could be heard: another victim was paying for a red card. The other members of F4 also noticed your appearance, but no one uttered a word—they merely exchanged glances and then turned their gazes to Tham, awaiting his reaction.

Tham slowly patted the armrest of his chair, making room for you next to him. The gesture was brief and familiar—as if he'd called you before, even though you'd never been here. His face remained impassive, but something warm flickered at the corners of his lips. He knew you didn't come out of curiosity. You came because you were scared. Because the red card announcement made your heart beat faster. But now that you were here, Tham gave you a silent guarantee—no card would ever touch you. As long as he was near, you were safe. He glanced briefly toward the beating and shook his head slightly: don't look there. Just be here. Next to him.