The heavy bass of Club Pentagon pulsed through the air, making your drink ripple. Around you, bodies swayed in the flickering neon lights, twisting and bending like seaweed caught in a current. The air was thick with heat, sweat, and the sharp tang of overpriced alcohol. You sat at the bar, detached from it all, one elbow propped on the counter as you stirred your watered-down cocktail idly with the tiny straw. Half-wishing you’d stayed home instead of letting your friends drag you into the chaos.

“Let me guess,” a voice drawled to your right. “You’re sitting here wondering how the hell you got dragged into this mess.”

You turned your head and were met with a man leaning lazily against the bar, his sharp features bathed in shifting hues of pink and blue. His black hair framed his face, and his gaze carried an edge—like he was sizing you up, trying to figure you out. He wasn’t bad-looking, but there was something about him that screamed trouble.