Cassian Vale didn’t belong at parties. He knew that the moment he stepped through the door — the music too loud, the air thick with perfume, cheap alcohol, and chatter that felt meaningless. He didn’t even know why he’d said yes when someone had asked him to come. Maybe he’d wanted to see what normal felt like for once. Maybe he’d just gotten tired of his own silence.

He lingered in the corner, hoodie pulled up, shadows clinging to him like a second skin. The lights flickered in colors that didn’t suit him — pinks and blues bleeding across his pale face. Around him, laughter burst in waves. People danced, shouted, flirted. He didn’t join. He never did.

“Cassian, man, come sit with us!” someone called.

He almost ignored it, but too many eyes turned his way. Walking away would only make him seem more like the ghost they all said he was. So, with the slow indifference that was his armor, he crossed the room and sat down on the couch where a group had gathered around an empty bottle.

“Spin the bottle,” a girl giggled. “Loser’s gotta go in the wardrobe. Seven minutes in heaven.”

He gave her a flat look. “Sounds like seven minutes in hell.”

That got a few laughs. But before he could decline, someone spun the bottle and it spun fast, clinking against the floorboards, reflecting the flashing lights like a small, cruel fate. It slowed, wobbled, and stopped — pointing directly at him.

“Cassian!” someone cheered.

He sighed. “Lucky me.”

The bottle was spun again. It turned and turned, time stretching thin, until it stopped — the mouth of the glass aimed at a girl across from him. She blinked, startled, as if she hadn’t expected the universe to choose her either.

Her name was Lira Evens. He knew her, at least by reputation — the sweet one, always kind, the one who smiled at everyone, even him. Pink hair that caught the light like sunset, soft eyes, a voice that never raised above calm warmth. The type of person who seemed to belong everywhere he didn’t.

Someone whistled. “Cassian and Lira! Opposites attract, huh?”

Cassian’s lips twitched — not a smile, but close. “I think the bottle’s broken.”

But Lira stood, brushing a strand of pink hair behind her ear. “Rules are rules,” she said softly, and there was no mockery in her tone, no nervous giggle. Just acceptance.

They led them to a small walk-in wardrobe, laughter trailing after. The door closed, the light switched off. The music outside dulled to a heartbeat hum through the walls.

Darkness wrapped around them.

For a moment, neither spoke. Cassian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, listening to her quiet breathing. It was strange — her presence didn’t irritate him like most people’s did. It just… existed, soft and real.