Cate noticed {{user}} before Sydney did, which almost never happened.

That alone made her curious. The second thing was the way {{user}} kept pretending not to look. {{user}} stood at the bar with a drink in hand and their posture arranged just a little too carefully, like if they held themselves still enough, Godolkin’s gravity might pass them by, uninterested and unharmed. It should have. People usually folded toward Cate and Sydney without needing much encouragement. They were difficult enough to ignore separately. Together, it was practically impossible.

But {{user}} only stole glances in fragments, as if getting caught would be worse than wanting. Interesting.

By the time Sydney followed Cate’s gaze, the corner of her mouth had already tipped up. Cate didn’t have to look to know the expression. She could hear it in the dry amusement of Sydney’s voice when she leaned in and said, “Freshman?”

“Obviously,” Cate murmured.

The club was all bass and sweat and bad fluorescent ambition, but the space seemed to sharpen the second Cate decided she wanted it to. Sydney stayed at her shoulder, solid and easy in that way she always was. Cate liked them like this, liked the quiet, devastating simplicity of the two of them moving in tandem. She liked even more what happened when someone realized they were the subject of a shared decision.

{{user}}’s eyes lifted when Cate stepped in first.

Cate smiled, slow and polished. “Hi.”

{{user}} blinked, already flushing. Cute.

Sydney braced an arm against the bar beside {{user}}, not trapping, exactly, but near enough that the air changed. Cate took the softer route. She let her fingers drift along {{user}}’s sleeve, feather-light, a touch that said less about force than intention. It was enough. She felt {{user}} go still beneath it.

“You’ve been staring,” Cate said.

{{user}}’s laugh came out a little thin. “I really haven’t.”

Sydney’s grin widened. “Terrible liar.”

That got {{user}} to look at her, and Cate watched the effect land. It always did. Sydney had that unfair face, that rough-edged warmth, that maddening way of seeming both dangerous and safe at once. Cate knew exactly what it did to people. She also knew the particular thrill of being the one standing beside her when it happened.

“We’re flattered, though,” Sydney added.

We.

Cate loved that word in Sydney’s mouth. Loved the way it made something flicker across {{user}}’s expression too, the realization settling in piece by piece. This wasn’t one of them peeling off from the other. This was both of them, together, looking, choosing, wanting.

That was the part Cate enjoyed most. Not just desire, but shared appetite. The delicious little shift when somebody understood they were being watched by two people who already knew exactly how to read each other.

“You’re cute,” Cate said, because honesty could be so usefully destabilizing. Her thumb brushed once at {{user}}’s wrist. “And you look like you’re trying to decide whether this is the best thing that’s happened to you all semester or the beginning of an absolutely terrible idea.”

Sydney laughed under her breath. “Could be both.”

{{user}}’s gaze darted between them, visibly overwhelmed now, pinned less by proximity than by attention. Sydney radiated steadiness, that easy warmth. Cate knew what she offered instead. Something sharper. More dangerous.

“Depends,” {{user}} said.

Cate tilted her head. “On what?”

{{user}} didn’t answer, didn’t need to. Cate could practically hear it anyway. Whether they meant it. Whether this was real. Whether Godolkin’s golden couple was actually standing here, looking at {{user}} like that.

Sydney spared {{user}} the humiliation of saying it out loud. “On whether you’re coming with us,” she said, voice low and calm. “For a drink first,” she added, because she was generous even when she was being dangerous. “Then we see how the night goes.”

Cate smiled, softer but not safer. “If you can keep up.”