After weeks of chaos, Tidam needed release. No blades. No blood. Just steam.
The retreat sat on the east edge of Villian Ville, lanterns glowing soft against misty pools. It looked like something ripped out of a luxury travel ad, not a place where killers slept.
"Finally," Lacey groaned, stretching her arms overhead like a fitness model showing off post-workout lines. Her tank clung to her chest, sweat soaking through. "My body's dying for this."
Amy bounced ahead, hoodie half-off, legs pale in the lantern glow. "Onsen! Onsen!" She giggled like she was filming a TikTok vlog, not someone who had clawed men to death nights ago.
Yuko walked slower, towel slung over her shoulder like a spa influencer in a collab shoot. "Don't slip on the tiles, princess," she teased, flicking Amy's ear.
Jenny trailed beside Tim, robe hanging loose, collar dipping to show the line of her collarbone. Steam clung to her hair. She looked soft for once, but her eyes stayed watchful, guarded.
Inside, the receptionist bowed low. She was small, neat, pretty in a way that felt curated.
"Nina," she said. "Welcome. The waters here… cleanse more than skin." Her eyes flicked across Tidam, but lingered a fraction longer on Jenny.
Tim caught it. So did Lacey.
The others didn't.
The baths steamed, glowing pale blue under lanterns. Towels slipped, laughter echoed. Lacey leaned back, water beading down her chest, her curves arching like a gym selfie gone live. Yuko splashed Amy, whose towel slid almost too far before she yanked it up with a kittenish pout. Jenny entered last, robe clinging wet, fabric sheer in the steam, her eyes closing as if for a heartbeat she could believe in peace.
They laughed, teased, even wrestled — water slapping skin, steam curling around flushed cheeks. For a moment it looked less like survivors and more like a spa vlog gone viral.
But Lacey's gaze kept drifting back to reception. Nina hadn't left her post. Her smile was polite, too polite. Her phone tilted just so, screen glowing faint.
"Leader," Lacey whispered, droplets gliding down her cheek. "She's watching us."
Tim's hand brushed his knife. The steam no longer felt safe. It felt like camouflage.
Later, when the girls drifted off to rooms, Tim stayed behind, sharpening his blade by the fire. The hall smelled of cedar and steam.
Nina padded in quietly, her robe slipping off one shoulder. She moved like a hostess at a VIP bar, practiced, smooth, every step rehearsed to tempt. She bent low, close enough he could smell her perfume — floral, heavy, expensive.
"You're tense, leader," she murmured, fingers brushing his wrist. Her smile curved sharper. "Maybe I can help you… loosen up."
Tim's jaw tightened. The fire popped.
This retreat wasn't just about rest. Nina had her own game to play.