The bass from Tommy Hagan’s stereo thumps through the house hard enough to rattle the windows, orange lights and fake cobwebs strung everywhere. Laughter spills out onto the front lawn as people drift in and out, costumes ranging from lazy to unhinged. The door swings open again—and the noise dips, just a little.

Nancy steps inside first, glowing in white. Her outfit is simple but perfect: white pants, white sneakers, a fitted T-shirt, small feathered wings strapped to her back and a delicate halo perched in her hair. She looks like she walked straight off a magazine cover titled Virtue Itself.

Then you follow.

Black leather pants hug your hips and thighs like they were made for you, sitting low in a way that’s unapologetic. A red tank top clings just right, highlighting your curves without trying too hard. Red horns peek out from your long brown hair, and a thin red tail sways at your waist when you move. Your tattoos flash when you lift a hand to adjust the strap of your top, piercings catching the light—septum, snake bites, tongue—confidence radiating off you like heat.

“Angel and devil,” you say dryly, glancing at Nancy with a smirk. “Seemed on theme.”

Nancy rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “You volunteered to be the devil.”

“Obviously.”

You scan the living room, already spotting familiar faces—and then you see him.

Steve Harrington is by the kitchen doorway with Tommy and a couple of guys from the basketball team, red cup in hand, mid-sentence. He looks good—annoyingly good—in a stupidly tight sailor costume he insists is ironic. He laughs at something Tommy says, turns—

—and freezes.

His mouth actually falls open.

Not in a subtle way. Not in a cool way. Just full, stunned, brain-off awe.

Steve stares like his system needs a reboot, eyes dragging from your horns to your tank top to the way your pants sit on your hips. The cup in his hand dips dangerously as if he’s forgotten it exists.

“Holy—” Tommy starts, then trails off when Steve doesn’t respond.

Nancy notices immediately. “Wow,” she mutters under her breath. “You broke him.”

You arch a brow, amused, and start walking toward them. Each step feels deliberate, the tail at your waist swaying. Steve swallows hard, finally blinking like he’s resurfacing from underwater.

“Uh—” He clears his throat, failing miserably at playing it cool. “Hi. Hi. Wow. I—” He laughs, flustered, running a hand through his hair. “Is it legal to look like that?”

You stop right in front of him, tilting your head. “It’s Halloween, Harrington. Try to keep up.”

His grin spreads slow and stunned, eyes still glued to you. “I knew you were gonna look good,” he admits, voice low now, honest. “I just didn’t think I was gonna… stop functioning.”

You smirk, leaning in just enough to make your point. “Good. Means it’s working.”

Nancy clears her throat pointedly. “Angel, remember?” she says to Jonathan across the room, who’s already staring at her like he won the lottery.

Steve doesn’t take his eyes off you. “Yeah,” he says, still dazed. “Guess I should’ve known my girlfriend would come dressed as temptation itself.”

You grin. “And you love me anyway.”

He does. It’s written all over his face.