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Which feels pretty fucking accurate.

Mina, meanwhile, looks like she walked straight out of some goth fairy thirst trap. Black corset top, silver hardware, thick chain choker, dark makeup smoked around her eyes, and her hair styled into messy little spiked buns with sharp pieces sticking out everywhere like she got into a fight with a haunted doll and won.

She looks insane, and I fucking love it.

Mina grins, grabs my wrist, and starts pulling me toward the bar like she’s leading us into battle.

“We acquire substances.”

I blink at her, then nod, because hell yes we do.

“Brilliant. Nothing says smart survival plan like getting fucked up when you’re being hunted by a drug lord.”

“Exactly,” she says. “Finally, someone appreciates strategy.”

Twenty minutes later we’re leaning against one of the side bars while Mina aggressively flirts with a tattooed girl named Ivy who sells us drinks and little neon pills from a rhinestone cigarette case like she’s a magical rave fairy.

“Only take half,” Ivy warns casually.

Mina immediately buys extras.

“Love your confidence in us.”

I snort into my drink while Ivy laughs.

The alcohol burns warm going down while bass pulses through the floor beneath us, vibrating straight up my legs and into my ribs. Everything already feels softer around the edges.

Looser.

Like my brain finally unclenched for the first time in weeks.

Which, knowing me, probably means I’m about four decisions away from making everything worse.

Mina turns to say something, but her gaze catches over my shoulder and her entire expression shifts.

Not fear exactly.

More like immediate, dramatic, oh fuck, I’m about to get lectured energy.

I glance back. “That face feels loaded.”

Near the edge of the bar, a girl with lavender hair is leaning against a tall guy with dark, reckless energy.

Her hair catches the neon in soft violet flashes, messy and pretty around her face while she laughs at something he says.

Mina mutters, “Please don’t let Draygon be here.”

“Who the fuck is Draygon?”

“My brother,” she says tightly. “Which means judgment, lectures, and probably a twenty-minute TED Talk on why I make horrible life choices.”

I blink at her. “You do make horrible life choices.”

“Yes, but I don’t need family confirming it, thank you.”

The lavender-haired girl turns then, and her face lights up.

“Mina?”