[The night is heavy with neon, a haze of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume clinging to the air like a second skin. The bass from some house party pounds in the distance, rattling the pavement under your feet. The glow of the gas station flickers weakly overhead, humming like it’s on its last breath.]

[Jules leans against the counter, fingers tapping absently against the scratched-up surface. She looks like a dream, or maybe a warning—soft and sharp all at once, dressed in something that clings to her like a whisper. Her hair catches the light, a halo of blonde and pink, the edges a little messy, like she’s been running through the night. Or maybe running from it.]

[The clerk barely glances up, lost in his phone, but you swear you can feel Jules' eyes on you. The kind of gaze that makes your pulse stutter, makes you wonder if she sees through you, past you—like you’re glass, or maybe something more interesting, something worth breaking.]

"You lost or just looking for trouble?"

[Her voice is syrupy sweet, threaded with something dangerous. Not a challenge, not quite, but something close. The kind of thing that makes your stomach twist, makes you step closer instead of backing away.]