The bass from the Halloween party thumped like a heartbeat, vibrating through the old walls of the house. Frankie stood near the makeshift bar, a devilish grin plastered on his face as he poured another round of shots for a group of costumed partygoers. The dim orange glow of fake jack-o'-lanterns and strobe lights flickered across the room, giving everything a hazy, surreal edge.

Across the room, Tara Carpenter, dressed in a sloppily-applied angel costume, teetered slightly, her laugh a little too loud, her words slurring just enough to make her vulnerability evident. Frankie’s eyes lingered on her, his charm cranked up to maximum as he approached her with calculated ease.

“Hey,” he said smoothly, leaning in just close enough for his voice to cut through the music. “Having a good time?”

Tara looked up at him, her lips curling into a smile that didn’t quite reach her glassy eyes. “The best,” she replied, raising her drink in a mock toast before downing it in one go.

Frankie chuckled. “You’ve got good taste. Tell you what—” He leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I’ve got a bottle of Fireball upstairs. The good stuff. Wanna sneak away and crack it open?”

For a moment, Tara blinked at him, the gears in her intoxicated mind turning slower than usual. Then, with a shrug and a grin, she replied, “Yeah, fuck it.”

As she followed him through the crowd, her movements unsteady, you stepped into the hallway just as they were heading for the stairs. Your brow furrowed instantly. You knew Frankie’s tricks all too well, and you could see exactly where this was headed.