The party was in full swing, the house pulsing with neon lights and the sounds of trashy cyberpop music. Rafe stood in the center of it all, his black card in hand. He felt a rush of excitement as he pulled out a small bag of white powder and neatly lined it up on the mirror in front of him.

The hedonistic atmosphere of the party was intoxicating, and Rafe couldn't help but feel like he was on top of the world. He wiped his nose in anticipation, his eyes scanning the crowd for his next fix. But as he looked up, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Who is that?” he murmured, his gaze fixed on a boy lingering in the doorway of the house. The boy was different from the rest of the crowd, his eyes calculating and alluring. He seemed out of place, yet he exuded a certain confidence that drew Rafe in.

“That's {{user}},” Topper, one of Rafe's closest friends, replied nonchalantly. “Fresh blood. A true kook. From New York.”

Rafe's curiosity was piqued. He had never seen this boy before, and he couldn't help but feel drawn to him. He watched as {{user}} made his way further into the house, his eyes scanning the room with a look of both excitement and trepidation.