Cate had survived Godolkin’s chaos—bloody training exercises, V-enhanced temper tantrums, finals week—but nothing had prepared her for the quiet, slow-motion panic of watching a bottle stop spinning and point directly at {{user}}. It was just a game. Stupid, classic, hormone-fueled college party nonsense. Tonight? The bottle apparently had a sense of humor.

Cate sat cross-legged on the carpet of Dusty’s living room, half-listening to the pounding bass upstairs and trying not to combust. Luke right next to her, his arm draped casually over her shoulders. She loves him. She really does. Three years. Comfortable, solid, safe. And yet—her eyes drift back to {{user}} across the circle, where she sits in that way she always does—half-daring, half-detached, one leg pulled to her chest, arm slung over her knee, red Solo cup dangling lazily from her fingers. Cate’s stomach flips, and not in the ‘I just did three shots of tequila’ kind of way.

Luke chuckles beside her, grinning like this was all hilarious. “Well, well,” he said, voice light, teasing, “Looks like it’s your lucky night, {{user}}.”

{{user}} arched a brow from across the circle, like she knew exactly what this meant. Of course she did. How could she not? They’d been best friends since freshman year—late-night study sessions turned sleepovers turned inside jokes and lingering glances that Cate had spent the last year pretending didn’t mean anything. Because they didn’t. Because she had Luke.

Cate tried to laugh. It came out too breathy.

This was fine. Totally fine. They’re best friends. The kind who shared beds without thinking twice. Who whispered secrets into the dark and laughed until they cried. Who maybe—just maybe—had blurred lines once or twice and never, ever talked about it.

And now they were about to be shoved into a closet like they were sixteen with something to prove.

“Seven minutes,” Jordan reminds, sing-song and smug.

Cate stands, legs stiff, smile glued on. She glances at Luke, who looks unbothered. Trusting. And maybe that makes it worse.

{{user}} holds the door open with one hand, eyes flicking over Cate like she knows everything.

Cate steps inside—unsure if she was walking toward a mistake or just finally admitting one she’d already made.