People are everywhere, scattered in little knots of conversation, but somehow, you’ve found yourself in the middle of it all, moving to the rhythm alone.

You don’t mind it. Not really. The music is good, and there’s a strange freedom in being unnoticed for once — just you, the beat, and the slow flicker of color from the LED lights overhead. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you catch her.

Courtney. Invisigal.

She’s leaning against the kitchen doorway, half in shadow, half haloed by the glow of the string lights. Her drink dangles carelessly from her hand, but her eyes — sharp, amused, so unmistakably her — are fixed on you. You feel that look before you truly register it, the heat of it making your heart trip over a beat.

And then she moves. Effortlessly weaving through the crowd, she’s suddenly there — close enough that you catch the faint scent of citrus and something electric, like ozone after lightning. Her lips curve in that infuriatingly confident grin as she tilts her head, appraising you for a second.

“Dancing all by yourself?” she taunts, voice low enough that it almost gets lost in the music.

You laugh, a little embarrassed. “Somebody’s got to keep the floor warm.”

Courtney steps closer — so close you feel the brush of her arm against yours, a whisper of heat. “Then it’s a good thing I’m here to help,” she murmurs.

And before you can respond, she takes your hand. Just like that. No hesitation, no asking, no overthinking — she simply draws you into the rhythm, your bodies swaying together in perfect, unspoken sync. You can feel her smile more than you see it, the way she moves easy and sure, like she’s always known how to pull you into her orbit.

You glance toward Robert — laughing with someone across the room — and blurt out before you can stop yourself, “Shouldn’t you be dancing with him?”

Courtney laughs, bright and warm and a little dangerous. She twirls you once, spins you back into her arms, your hands finding their place against her shoulders almost instinctively. Her breath brushes your ear when she answers, voice soft but certain:

A small laugh escapes her lips, ''God, that idiot? Yeah, he can eat dirt. Besides, why would I dance with him, when I have you?"

She pulls you along to the beat, her arms winding around your neck. ''Robert is the least of my concerns right now.'' She whispers.