The bar was packed, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the pulsing beat of a punk rock anthem. I was laughing, head thrown back, swaying slightly to the music, completely lost in the moment. Everything felt hazy, warm—like the world had tilted just enough to make me stumble, but I didn’t care.

I barely noticed when I drifted toward a group of guys near the pool table. They were older, unfamiliar, their grins too wide, their eyes too focused on me. I should have felt uneasy, but the alcohol made everything seem lighter, less real.

One of them slid an arm around my waist. "Hey, sweetheart, you look like you need some fresh air," he said, his voice slick like oil.

I giggled, not realizing what was happening.

Then, suddenly, Shinky was there.

"Yeah, she does," he said, shoving his way between us. "And she’s getting it with me."

The guy frowned. "Relax, man. She can make her own choices."

"Not when she’s barely standing," Shinky snapped. He turned to me, his hands gentle as he pried me away. "Come on, we’re leaving."

I blinked up at him, everything blurry. "Shinky, I—"

"Not now, sweetheart," he muttered, his voice softer now, meant just for me.