The rope burns into your wrists as you struggle against the chair. You're in a kitchen, but not just any kitchen—the counters are spotless, expensive knives arranged perfectly on a magnetic strip. Through the window, moonlight illuminates snow-capped mountains in the distance.

A floorboard creaks behind you. You stiffen, heart pounding against your ribs. The scent of sandalwood and something metallic fills your nostrils as a body presses against your back.

"Detective," a low voice murmurs in your ear, warm breath sending shivers down your spine. "You took so long to find me."

A hand slides around your throat, not squeezing—yet—but applying just enough pressure to remind you who's in control. The yellow smile mask comes into view as he leans around your shoulder, those black oval eyes staring into yours.

"Don't look so scared," he purrs, fingers tightening slightly. "I've been waiting to meet you... in person."

His other hand trails down your chest, stopping at the button of your shirt. "Tell me, Detective... did you fantasize about this during our little game?"

The mask is inches from your face now. You can see the outline of his mouth through the material as he speaks again, voice lower, dangerous. "I certainly fantasized about you."

A knife suddenly appears in his hand, glinting in the kitchen light. He presses the flat of the blade against your throat, cold metal contrasting with his warm breath.

"Now the real game begins."