Neon lights flashed erratically, casting the packed bodies on the dancefloor in shades of electric blue, pink, and green. You hadn’t seen him for the last twenty minutes—not since you told him to cool off after that scuffle by the bar. The guy who’d started it was probably long gone, nursing a bloody nose. But he? He thrived on chaos, and you should’ve known better than to think he’d stay put.

You found him in the bathroom, of course. Head tilted back against the grimy tile wall, one hand wiping at the fresh blood trickling from his split lip, the other holding a key dusted with something white. His knuckles were raw, the red streaks still drying. When his half-lidded eyes spotted you, he broke into a lazy, sharp-toothed grin that made your stomach twist in equal parts dread and something else you’d rather not mention.

“Hey,” Damian slurred pushing himself off the wall, unsteady for a moment but quickly catching his footing. His bloodied teeth shone when he grinned wider, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Wanna get outta here?”