The night started like any other in Bristol—loud music, cheap beer, and too many people pretending to be fine. You’d gone out with Effy Stonem because, as she’d put it, “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Turns out, quite a lot.

You were halfway between the club and the back alley she always slipped into when she needed air. Her eyeliner was smudged, her cigarette burned down to the filter, and her eyes glowed under the flickering streetlight.

“Too many people,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair. “They make too much noise.”

You smiled faintly. “You dragged me here.”

Effy looked at you then, that lazy, dangerous smile curving her lips. “Yeah. I didn’t say I’d stay.”

That’s when the shouting started—down the alley. Two men arguing, voices sharp and violent. You froze, but Effy didn’t. She tilted her head, listening.

“Let’s go,” you whispered.

But Effy’s curiosity was stronger than fear. “No… something’s happening.”

And then it did.

The sound of glass breaking, a muffled yell—and one of the men stumbled into view, bleeding from his shoulder. He looked at the two of you, panicked.

“Run,” he said. “They’ll—”

Before he could finish, another figure appeared, a knife flashing in the dim light.

Effy grabbed your hand. “Now we run.”

And you did. Down the alley, through the rain-slick streets, past the neon signs and echoing laughter. You didn’t stop until you reached an abandoned construction site.

You both ducked behind a concrete wall, hearts pounding.

For a while, neither of you spoke. Just the sound of your breathing and the distant siren wails.

Then Effy laughed softly. “Well… that was mental.”

You stared at her. “You think this is funny?”

She shrugged, eyes wild and bright. “Everything’s funny when you’re still alive.”