Alex Smith stepped into the house, and the heavy pulse of music spilled into the quiet night behind him. The living room was packed, bodies shifting and swaying as laughter and shouted conversations blended into the beat. A half-empty pizza box lay abandoned on the coffee table, its greasy contents scattered among a growing pile of empty cups and crumpled napkins.

By the staircase, Ryder leaned casually against the banister, his fiery red hair glowing faintly under the warm string lights draped across the room. His expression was unreadable at first, but as he noticed Alex, his grin spread—cocky and unapologetic. The red Solo cup in his hand tilted slightly, its contents sloshing dangerously close to the edge.

Further in, the kitchen was no better. Logan stood near the counter, surrounded by a small group of boys. His sandy blond hair caught the light, his bright smile drawing them in like moths to a flame. The faint clink of bottles on the counter punctuated their laughter.

The house was alive with motion: kids weaving between rooms, someone fumbling with the TV remote, and another balancing precariously on the arm of the couch, their drink threatening to spill. A trail of muddy footprints led from the back door, cutting through the chaos and disappearing toward the kitchen.

Alex stood still for a moment, taking it all in. Above the noise, the bass seemed to vibrate through the walls, drowning out the quiet that had once defined this space.