She lay on her back in Papyrus's race car bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across the ceiling.

The room was absurd.

Model race cars sat neatly on shelves.

Plastic trophies gleamed in the moonlight.

A cardboard cutout of a famous racer stood proudly in the corner.

Cookbooks were stacked on the nightstand beside the bed.

She had expected the bedroom of a Mafia Capo to be filled with hidden safes, expensive liquor, and locked cabinets full of weapons.

Instead, it looked like the room of someone who genuinely loved life.

Nothing about Papyrus matched the image Evelyn had painted.

Nothing about tonight made sense.

She rolled onto her side and squeezed her eyes shut.

Sleep never came.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes of gunfire tearing through the rain.

She heard Evelyn's cold voice.

They are monsters.

Then another memory pushed its way forward.

Papyrus standing between her and a hail of bullets without hesitation.

Blue magic suspending a bullet inches from his face.

His concern when he noticed the cuts on her hands.

His excitement over grilled cheese.Frisk groaned and buried her face in the pillow.

"This mission is already a disaster..."

She opened one eye toward the clock.

Nearly one in the morning.

"...Great."

She carefully climbed out of bed.

The race car frame gave a tiny squeak beneath her weight.

She froze.

Silence.

No footsteps.

No voices.

Satisfied, she quietly opened the bedroom door and slipped into the hallway.

Moonlight spilled through the upstairs windows, leaving pale silver rectangles across the hardwood floor.

Papyrus had pointed out the bathroom before heading downstairs.

"SECOND DOOR ON THE LEFT!"

Easy enough.

She padded quietly across the hallway and slipped inside.

The bathroom was spotless.

The towels were folded perfectly.

Soap bottles sat in straight lines along the sink.

Even the toothbrushes were organized by height.

Papyrus definitely lived here.

Frisk splashed cold water across her face before looking into the mirror.

She barely recognized herself.

Her hair was still damp.

A scrape ran across her cheek.

Dark circles hung beneath tired eyes.

"You've got this," she whispered.

The reflection didn't look convinced.

Neither was she.

She dried her hands, took a steadying breath, and opened the bathroom door.

The hallway was exactly as she'd left it.

Dark.

Quiet, for the faint snore from Papyrus downstairs.

She stepped outside.

One step.

Then another.

Click.

The sound was soft.

Metal against metal.

Frisk froze.

Her stomach dropped.

She knew that sound.

Anyone who grew up surviving on the streets learned it eventually.

Not a safety.

A slide.

A handgun chambering a round.

Someone had loaded a weapon.

Very slowly, Frisk turned around.

A skeleton stood at the opposite end of the hallway.

Short.

Stocky.

One hand rested casually inside the pocket of his black dress pants.

The other held a silver pistol aimed directly at her chest.

He hadn't made a sound.

She had no idea how long he'd been standing there.

His posture was relaxed.

Almost lazy.

But the gun never wavered.

It pointed at the center of her chest with perfect precision.

Moonlight reflected faintly off the barrel.

The skeleton's permanent grin gave away nothing.

Dark eye sockets studied her quietly.

Patiently.

The silence stretched.

Then he spoke.

"...human."

His voice was calm.Almost bored.

It somehow made the gun even more terrifying.

His gaze drifted over her.

The oversized shirt Papyrus had loaned her.

The open bathroom door behind her.

The bedroom.

The hallway.

Every detail.

Then his eyes returned to hers.

"mind tellin' me..."

A pause.

"...what the hell you're doin' in my house?"

Frisk forgot how to breathe.

Every instinct screamed at her to run.

Dive.

Hide.

Fight.

Anything.

But another instinct, one born from years on the streets, screamed louder.

Don't move.

The skeleton wasn't bluffing.

She knew people who carried guns just to look dangerous.

This wasn't one of them.

He looked... comfortable.

Like aiming a pistol at someone's heart was no more unusual than holding a coffee mug.

If she moved, he would shoot.

She was certain of it.

Several agonizing seconds passed.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them blinked.

Finally, the skeleton let out a quiet breath through his nose.

"...heh."

The word cut the tension in half without warning.

Frisk blinked.

"...What?"

Without another word, he lowered the pistol.

Frisk didn't move.

He clicked the safety back into place and slid the weapon in the back of his waistband like it was nothing more than a lighter.

"relax,"

Frisk did not relax.

He leaned back against the hallway wall, one shoulder loose, posture lazy in a way that made it feel like gravity did not apply to him the same way it applied to everyone else.

"papyrus told me about you hours ago."

Frisk's mind scrambled to catch up.

"...He did?"

"yeah."

The skeleton tilted his head slightly, eye sockets half lidded.

"said he brought someone home."

Frisk slowly exhaled, realizing too late how tight her chest had been.

"So you weren't..."

"gonna shoot you?"

He finished.

A small pause.

"nah."

Another beat.

"...probably not."

Frisk stared at him.

"That is not comforting."

The skeleton shrugged.

"wasn't meant to be."

Silence settled again, but it was different now. Less sharp. Less like a blade pressed to her throat and more like standing too close to the edge of a roof.

The skeleton studied her for another long moment.

His expression never changed.

The grin stayed exactly where it was.

It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

Finally, he spoke.

"...the name's sans."

He offered no hand.

Just the name.

Frisk swallowed.

"...Frisk."

His eye lights flicked over her once more.

"yeah."

His answer was immediate.

"papyrus already told me."

Another silence.

Frisk folded her arms.

"I didn't mean to wake you."

"you didn't."

"You were already awake?"

"light sleeper."

His voice remained calm.

Matter of fact.

Not unfriendly.

Not friendly either.

He studied her for another long moment.

Frisk could feel herself becoming increasingly uncomfortable under his gaze.

He wasn't glaring.

He wasn't threatening her.

He was simply... looking.

As though trying to solve a puzzle.

Another silence.

Frisk resisted the urge to fidget.

Every instinct told her to keep talking.

To explain.

To justify why she was standing in the hallway of a Mafia Capo's house in the middle of the night.

Instead, she stayed quiet.

Sans seemed perfectly content to let it stretch.

Frisk shifted her weight.

He noticed.

"Papyrus doesn't usually bring people home."

The statement hung between them.

Frisk wasn't sure if it was a question.

Or a warning.

She chose her words carefully.

"He was trying to help."

"yeah."

Sans slipped both hands into his pockets.

"that's kinda his thing."

He glanced toward Papyrus's closed bedroom door.

"papyrus trusts people too easy."

Frisk hesitated.

"I noticed."

"guess somebody's gotta be careful."

She met his gaze.

He wasn't accusing her.

He wasn't threatening her.

He was simply stating a fact.

The implication lingered anyway.

"He seems..."

She searched for the right word.

"...kind."

Sans held her gaze.

"yeah."

The single word carried unexpected weight.

Another quiet moment passed before Sans let out a tired yawn.

"well."

"i'm headin' to bed."

He started toward the bedroom across the hall.

At his door, he stopped.

"Oh."

Frisk looked up.

He jerked a thumb toward Papyrus's room.

"try not to crash the car."

She frowned.

"...The car?"

"The bed."

His grin never changed.

"papyrus would never let me hear the end of it."

With that, he disappeared into his room.

The door clicked shut behind him.

The hallway fell silent once more.

Frisk remained standing there for another minute, staring at the closed door.

Evelyn had warned her that Sans would be the hardest member of the Family to fool.

After less than five minutes with him...

She understood why.

He hadn't interrogated her.

He hadn't accused her.

He hadn't even asked why she was there.

And somehow...

She felt more scrutinized than if he had asked a hundred questions.

Taking one slow breath, Frisk slipped back into Papyrus's room and quietly closed the door behind her.

Sleep wouldn't be coming tonight after all.