Luna pulls cash out of her bra without breaking eye contact. “My treat,” she says. “Emotional support purchase.”
He takes the money and slides her the bag. She bats her lashes at him, full shameless.
“So,” she says, “do you come with the product?”
He chuckles. “Sorry. Spoken for.”
She pouts dramatically. “Rude. But hot. We respect boundaries.”
I shake one pill out into my palm. Red. Glittery. Skull-shaped. Extremely not legal.
“Cheers to making questionable choices,” I say, popping it back dry.
Sweet. Chemical. Definitely a felony in at least three states.
Luna and Harper follow suit, and then we’re already turning back toward the floor, because overthinking has never once improved a night like this.
Harper follows, Luna right on her heels, already laughing like she knows tonight’s going to get weird.
“If this turns into aDatelineepisode,” Harper shouts over the music, pointing at Luna, “I’m hauntingyouspecifically.”
Luna grins, completely unbothered. “Worth it.”
We’re back on the floor before I can say anything else, swallowed by bodies and bass. The music is loud enough to rattle my teeth, and I let it. My outfit moves when I do—red crystals catching the light, the dripping edges of it swaying against my skin like they’re alive. Every step makes it flash. Every grind earns me looks. I feel hot, exposed, untouchable. Exactly how I wanted.
I dance like I’m not thinking about anything else. No past. No tomorrow. Just sweat and lights and the way the crowd presses in close enough that strangers’ hands brush my hipslike it’s normal. Someone whistles. Someone bumps into me and apologizes with a smile that lingers a second too long. I smile back. Why not.
Luna’s already gone feral, hair sticking to her face, laughing at nothing. Harper’s yelling lyrics she absolutely does not know, one arm thrown over my shoulders like we’re sharing a single brain cell. We dance hard enough that my thighs start to burn and my chest feels tight—not bad, just charged. Like everything’s turned up a notch.
And then Luna leans in, shouting directly into my ear.
“Okay,” she says, way too proud of herself. “I bought the pills. You’re buying drinks.”
I laugh, nodding. “Fair. What do you want?”
She rattles off something red and sugary without thinking. Harper asks for something strong and cheap and points at the bar like it personally offended her.
“Don’t move,” I tell them. “If you die before I get back, I’m not explaining it.”
“No promises,” Harper yells, already dancing again.
I peel away from them, weaving through the crowd, feeling loose and warm and very sure of myself. The Cyanide is starting to work. My skin feels tight in a good way, like I’m plugged into something. Lights blur at the edges. The bass feels lower, heavier, like it’s settling right in my bones. Every touch feels louder. Every glance feels loaded.
I head in the general direction of where Ithinkthe bar is, but this place is massive, and every time the crowd shifts, I end up somewhere else. I don’t mind. I like the way people move when I move, like I belong wherever I decide to go.
By the time I realize how dry my mouth is, I’m already too far from the girls to turn back without effort, and effort feels optional tonight.
So I keep going.
The place is huge—warehouse huge. Exposed beams overhead, concrete underfoot, red lights bouncing off everything like the building itself is bleeding. Every hallway looks like it might lead somewhere important. Or nowhere. Hard to tell. I lose Luna and Harper somewhere between a speaker and a stranger’s shoulder, but I don’t panic. We always find each other again. Or we don’t. Both options have worked out fine before.
I push through a side door that I’m ninety percent sure leads to the bar and immediately realize… it does not.
Cool.
I’m suddenly outside, in a narrow alley running along the back of the warehouse. The bass still punches through the walls, muffled but steady, rattling the concrete under my boots. Graffiti coats every surface—layers on layers, some fresh, some ancient—and a single security light flickers overhead like it’s debating whether it wants to stay alive.
I stop, hands on my hips, squinting down the alley.
