I left the party. I didn’t care. The noise, the fake smiles — all of it felt plastic compared to the way she looked at me across the street.

She wasn’t waving. She wasn’t smiling. She was just watching me, like she already knew what I was about to do.

I followed her through back alleys lit in sick neon blues and dirty reds. The city felt alive, and hungry. Every shadow had a heartbeat. Every turn felt like I was choosing a side — hers or mine.

We ended up in a hotel room that didn’t belong to either of us. She poured whiskey into two glasses, no ice, no hesitation. Her lipstick left marks on the rim; I drank from the same spot without asking.

She told me things I shouldn’t have heard. Names. Places. Secrets that could ruin both of us. I laughed, because maybe I wanted to be ruined.

Her hand was on my chest, nails pressing just enough to let me know she could break skin if she wanted. The city lights cut across her face through the half-closed blinds, turning her into something holy and dangerous all at once.

I didn’t know if I was going to kiss her or kill the moment forever. But I leaned in, close enough to feel her breath tremble. “Baby,” I whispered, “tonight we burn, and we don’t come back.”