Elian showed up late—on purpose, of course.

Something about being fashionably indifferent kept his reputation intact. The excuse he’d given? Forgettable. Probably something about a paper due or a flat tire. Not that anyone cared.

Inside, it was the same chaos wrapped in neon: pounding bass, sweat-slicked bodies, the blur of cheap vodka and cheaper intentions. His crew was already deep in the mix—half-drunk, half-lost, and fully in love with their own noise.

Someone clapped him on the shoulder. “Bar’s calling!” Elian nodded absently. Of course they were splitting up. That was the drill.

“Watch the shots,” he muttered, eyes scanning the swarm. “And take Jake—he blacks out after two and swears it’s genetic.” Laughter trailed off into the crush of people. No one listened. They never did.

And honestly? He didn’t mind. Being alone in a room full of people was kind of his thing. He downed a shot—bitter, synthetic—and let the music drag him into the crowd.

This was supposed to be easy. Dance a little. Flirt a lot. Be remembered. That was the rhythm. And Elian never missed a beat.

Until tonight.

Because tonight, she was there.

Not suddenly. Not dramatically. She didn’t need all that. She was the drama. Moving through the crowd like she belonged to the music—no, like the music belonged to her.

Lights bent around her like they were drawn in, like she’d stepped through some backstage curtain of the universe and forgot to close it behind her.

Elian froze.

For the first time, the room tilted away from him. He couldn’t fake charm through this. Couldn’t swagger past it.

The smirk died before it even reached his lips.

He’d heard whispers—about someone like her. Not just fast. Not just talented. Something closer to untouchable.

And now, here she was. And Elian? He had no idea whether to chase her or run.