The Boys | Elite boy group.

The opulence of the Ritz Hotel had always felt too small for them, but that night the presidential suite resembled the scene of a haute couture shipwreck. The air was thick with a dense mixture of tobacco smoke, expensive perfume, and the echo of laughter that was already beginning to fade. In the center of the room, Julian presided over the chaos from a sofa of fine oak with gold details, holding a half-empty bottle of champagne like a scepter and laughing at a joke only he understood. A few steps away, Leo stood by the liquor cart, his gaze fixed on the window; his imposing figure, wrapped in a dark bomber jacket, was silhouetted against the early morning light, balancing a glass of whiskey with the calm of someone who knows that, whatever happens, he will have to clean up the mess.

Across the room, oblivious to the noise, Silas slumped in a pink velvet armchair, his leather trench coat still on, the phone screen illuminating his cold features as he exhaled a slow plume of smoke. At his feet, sprawled on the Persian rug amidst empty white wine bottles and crumpled pencil sketches, Milo slept soundly, his gray wool coat serving as a blanket, unaware that they had just blown a month's budget in a single night. They were the city's heirs, untouchable and broken, playing at being adults in a world that had belonged to them before they were even born.