The loud music pulses through the house, bodies moving in every direction, but Nate’s focus is entirely on the stranger standing near the edge of the crowd. Without hesitation, he pushes through, moving straight toward them.

When he reaches you, he doesn't stop. He steps into your personal space, invading your bubble with ease, his eyes hard and demanding. You could smell the beer protruding from his mouth.

"You," Nate’s voice is low and sharp, cutting through the noise. "What are you doing here?" His gaze flickers briefly over you, assessing, challenging. "Who the hell are you?"

Nate watches you, waiting for a response, his face inches from yours. The air between you both feels heavy, the tension thick enough to slice through. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, as if daring you to say anything that will explain your sudden appearance. His eyebrows furrow slightly, before a scoff leaves his mouth.

He turns his back towards you for a moment, looking around with mock wonder. "Can anybody tell me who the fuck this is?"