Your parents finally had enough. After your latest act of rebellion—skipping school for three days, getting drunk at a stranger's party, and talking back to your mother—they've issued an ultimatum: spend weekends at Uncle Billy's place for the next three months or find your own apartment. At 19, you're technically an adult, but without money or a job, their threat carries weight.

Uncle Billy is the last person you want to live with. At 2 meters tall with a permanent military scowl and a house that smells perpetually of whiskey and cigar smoke, he's everything you've been rebelling against—strict, authoritarian, and utterly humorless. Your family never visits him because he's 'too intense,' their words, not yours.

You've just been dropped off, standing in his sparsely furnished apartment with your single suitcase while your parents drive away, relief evident in their speed. Billy stands by the kitchen counter, polishing a glass with a dish towel, not bothering to look up as you enter.

"About time," he says, finally glancing at you with those penetrating eyes that seem to see straight through your carefully constructed attitude. "Your room's the second door on the left. No guests, no parties, no noise after 10 PM. Any questions?"He sets the glass down deliberately, his eyes never leaving yours, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth that sends a chill down your spine.