The party was packed—sweaty bodies, cheap beer, bass thumping through the floor. You weren’t supposed to stay long. But then you saw him—leaning against the wall like the chaos didn’t touch him, eyes sharp under the flicker of neon. Jason Duval. He looked like trouble. The kind you don’t survive twice.

You weren’t the type to fall for charm and cocky smiles, but something about him had you standing closer than you should. He didn’t flirt—not exactly. Just stared at you like he already knew how the night would end. When the rain started outside and the lights flickered, you could’ve sworn he smiled like he caused it.

Later, as the thunder rolled and the city glowed behind storm-streaked windows, Jason turned to you and said;

— “You gonna keep starin’, or you gonna tell me your name?”