Men mostly.
A few women scattered throughout.
Everyone dressed like they belonged on the cover of some luxury magazine.
They’re wearing expensive suits, tailored jackets, shiny shoes, expensive dresses.
Money practically drips from the air.
For a second I just stand there taking it in.
No one pays much attention to me. I mean, why would they? I don’t look anywhere near like any of them. They all scream money, luxury, success. And me – well, I’m not part ofthis world, not anymore, and all of them probably think that I don’t belong here.
People talk quietly in clusters, sipping champagne or darker drinks that glow amber under the lights.
The music is slow and heavy, vibrating gently through the floor beneath my boots.
I grab a drink from a passing tray without thinking.
Whiskey. The good kind. Very expensive one.
I take a sip. Then another. The burn feels good going down.
I start walking slowly through the crowd, pretending like I belong here.
Like this is normal for me. Like my life hasn’t been a disaster for the last year.
Someone laughs behind me.
Across the room, two men lean close together whispering something behind their masks.
The entire place has this strange energy to it.
Like everyone here knows what’s about to happen except me.
And then I feel it.
That weird prickling sensation on the back of my neck.
Like someone’s watching me.
My gaze drifts across the room.
And lands onhim.
Standing near the far wall. Completely still.
Dressed entirely in black – black suit, black gloves, black shirt. And covering his face – a glowing red neon eye-crossed skull mask.
The eyes burn bright against the darkness of the room.
For a moment I forget how to breathe.
He’s staring directly at me.
No doubt about it.
The distance between us isn’t huge, but it feels like miles.
