The bass from the party rattled the street, muffled but heavy, like a heartbeat thrumming through the night. Cars lined the road, some parked haphazardly, others still running with kids hanging out the windows. The house itself was packed—people on the front lawn, sitting on the curb, voices overlapping into a mess of laughter, shouting, and the occasional sound of a bottle breaking.

The Sturniolos’ car pulled up, headlights cutting through the crowd. Matt’s grip on the wheel was tight, jaw clenched so hard it looked like his teeth might crack. Nick sat in the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone, his knee bouncing with barely contained nerves. Chris was in the back, hood up, arms crossed, looking out the window like he was scanning for a threat.

"Tell me again why the hell she thought this was a good idea?" Matt muttered, eyes flicking toward the house.

Nick sighed, running a hand down his face. "I dunno, man. But she texted me, so at least she’s smart enough to know she needs to get outta here."

Chris leaned forward between the seats, peering out. "Y’all are overreacting. Could be worse. Maybe she’s just bored, not, y’know… in trouble."

Matt didn’t even look at him. "You gonna go get her then, or just sit there talkin’?"

Chris rolled his eyes but popped the door open. "Fine. If I get jumped by some drunk frat dude, avenge me."

He disappeared into the chaos, slipping between groups of people, dodging a couple making out on the porch. Nick and Matt sat in silence, the tension stretching between them.

Nick exhaled sharply. "She’s gonna be fine."

Matt’s fingers tapped against the wheel. "She better be."