We’re looking for ghosts in a room full of people pretending ghosts don’t exist.
Looking for proof of a woman whose name we don’t even know. Every face here is a performance, every laugh calculated, and somewhere underneath all that shine is the truth that women disappear from places like this and the party just keeps going.
What the fuck are we even doing here?
“We need to get into the VIP lounge,” I say, more to myself than her.
“Second floor,” the bartender says it without looking up from the drink he’s making, and my stomach drops because we weren’t exactly being subtle.
Alex spins so fast her hair whips across my arm.
Weapon deployed.
“Get us in.” She gives himThe Look.
It’s not even particularly sexual. It’s just... interested. Like he’s the most fascinating person she’s encountered all night and if he helps her, maybe—just maybe—something could happen.
He swallows. His eyes drop to her mouth, then back up to her eyes, then down again like he’s trapped in some kind of loop. His hands pause mid-pour.
The fantasy wins. It always does.
“Service entrance,” he says, jerking his head toward a door tucked behind the bar. He reaches under the register, pulls out two silver wristbands—the VIP kind that catch the light—and wraps them around our wrists with practiced efficiency. “Act like you belong.”
Alex bites her lip. A thank you that promises absolutely nothing and everything simultaneously.
We grab our drinks—mine barely touched, Alex’s already half empty—and follow him. And I’m already composing the apology text I’ll send this poor bastard in the morning when Alex inevitably ghosts him because she always ghosts them and they never see it coming.
The service door leads to another stairwell. Narrower than the last one. The music gets louder as we go down, then quieter, then louder again. Sound bouncing weird through the building’s guts.
“Just act like you belong,” the bartender whispers as he opens a door on the second-floor landing.
“I’ll see you in a sec.” Alex is already turning back toward him, and he’s waiting like a puppy that just got promised a walk.
“Seriously?” I hiss.
“He’s cute.” She glances back at him. Back at me. Her eyes narrow, calculating. “And we need him distracted so no one asks why we’re up here. If security sees him leading us, they’ll assume we’re supposed to be here.”
It’s logical. Strategic. The kind of calculation Alex makes constantly—how to use what she has to get what we need.
But I’m tired of watching her disappear with men she doesn’t want just to get what we need. Every time she deploys that look, that bite, that calculated interest, I see her shrink a little.
And I hate that I need her to do it. Hate that I’m grateful. Hate that we’re both so good at being what other people need us to be that sometimes I forget who we actually are.
“Alone?” I ask.
She steps close, drops her voice so only I can hear over the bass bleeding through the walls. “Five minutes. Tops.” She positions herself against the wall right outside the door, then catches my hand. Squeezes once. “I’ve got you, dandelion.”
“Five minutes,” I repeat. My throat tight.
“Hey.” She waits until I look at her. “If anything feels wrong—anything—you get out. I don’t care about the mission. I care about you.”
“Okay.”
“Say it back.”
“I get out if anything feels wrong.”
She nods. Sets her timer. “I love you. Don’t be a hero.”
