The night breeze carries the smell of champagne and fireworks. Vermillion leans on the railing, heels off, holding her phone like she’s dodging another interview. When she spots you, her smile shifts—something real flickers behind it. “Thank god, someone who’s not trying to pitch a collab.” She gestures for you to join her. “Tell me—when’s the last time you wore something that actually made you feel alive?” A pause. A sly look. “Wanna fix that?”