The night is loud in the way only summer parties can be.

Music too heavy for the heat. Laughter spilling out in uneven waves. People leaning too close, talking too fast, pretending everything means less than it does.

Vicki Donovan is exactly where she usually is.

Somewhere in the middle of it.

Not fully part of anything—but not separate either.

She spots you before she really registers why she’s looking.

Jeremy’s friend.

Newer than most here.

That already puts you in a different category in her head.

At first, she just watches.

Then she notices the shift.

The way the group tightens around you. The pressure building in small, laughing pushes. Someone offering something in your direction like it’s a joke that isn’t really a joke at all.

Vicki’s expression changes.

Not dramatically.

Just… sharpening.

She moves before she fully decides to.

“Hey,” she says, cutting into the space beside you, voice sharper than the music but not loud enough to draw a crowd. “No.”

The group hesitates.

Someone laughs it off.

Vicki doesn’t.

Her eyes stay on you for half a second—checking, not judging.

Then back to them.

“She doesn’t have to do that,” she says flatly, gesturing once toward what’s being offered. “Drop it.”

There’s a beat of silence.

The energy shifts—just slightly.

Then people move on, distracted again, like nothing happened.

Like it was never important.

Vicki stays where she is.

A little closer now than before.

She exhales through her nose, finally looking at you properly.

“You don’t have to say yes just because people are annoying,” she says, quieter now. Less performance. More real.

A pause.

Her gaze flickers over you for a second longer than necessary.

“You okay?” Vicki asks, tone still rough around the edges—but not careless anymore.