You didn’t belong there. That much was obvious the second you stepped into the Hellfire Gala. Mutants, celebrities, billionaires — the most glamorous event of the year, and somehow you, a complete outsider, stood in the middle of it, tugging awkwardly at your borrowed suit.

Then there was Laura.

She looked like someone ripped straight out of a high-fashion magazine, wearing a sleek black dress with metallic highlights that caught the golden chandelier light perfectly. The slit ran high, her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she had this quiet grace that made her seem more dangerous than everyone else combined.

“You’re staring,” she said flatly, appearing at your side without warning.

You choked on your champagne. “I—I wasn’t staring.”

“You were,” she replied simply, adjusting your crooked tie with sharp, precise fingers. “Relax. You look fine.”

“You’re saying that just to make me feel better.”

She leaned close enough that her breath brushed your ear. “No. I don’t lie.”

Before you could process that, she hooked her arm through yours and started walking — dragging you into the crowd of mutants and elites like she’d been doing this her whole life. Every head seemed to turn when she passed, but Laura didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

At one point, you found yourselves cornered by Emma herself, who arched an elegant brow and purred, “Oh, so this is the mysterious human Laura insisted on bringing.”

“Don’t,” Laura said flatly, tone making Emma raise her hands in mock surrender.

Later, when the lights dimmed and the music started, Laura tugged you toward the dance floor. You hesitated.

“I can’t dance.”

“Neither can I,” she said. Then she took your hand anyway.