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Ben stays by my side, making it hard to talk to anyone else. Every time I try, he interjects himself. Loud, laughing, always just a little too close. He dominates the conversation until people start drifting away, one by one, like it’s not worth fighting to be heard.

Suddenly, everything feels too overwhelming. The lights and even the sounds. I blink slowly, feeling as though the world is buffering in real time. My arms are heavy, and my smile feels like it’s been glued to my face. It’s uncomfortably wide, like I can’t control it.

I keep sipping the drink he gave me without thinking about it. I don’t even know if it’s the same one. It just… appeared in my hand again.

“You okay?” he asks, and his voice sounds like it’s underwater.

I nod, even though I’m not sure. I feel floaty. Untethered. As though I’m dreaming someone else’s dream and forgot the script. When I try to move away, intending to find Lena or maybe the bathroom, he catches my wrist and guides me toward the farthest wall.

“You’re swaying,” he says with a crooked smile. “Come with me for a sec.”

I don’t remember agreeing, but I’m following him, anyway. My body’s lagging behind my brain, every step weirdly delayed. There’s a buzzing in my ears that won’t go away.

“Ben,” I murmur, dragging his name out like I’m trying it on for the firsttime. “I think I need water.”

“You’re fine,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear while pushing me against the wall. His hand lingers. “You just danced too hard. You’re cute when you party.” He smells like cologne and beer, which is not a nice combo right now.

My head tilts, not quite on purpose. This doesn’t feel right—Idon’t feel right. The thought disappears, slipping under the surface like it never existed at all.

He keeps talking, something about DJs and EDM festivals and how he once snuck backstage at Coachella. But his voice is syrupy now. Slow and too sweet, and I can’t tell if it’s charming or cloying.

Every time I blink, the world seems to skip a frame.

Ben shifts closer, his thigh pressing between mine. “You’re a lot of fun when you let go.”

Am I?

When he leans in and kisses me, I don’t pull away, but I don’t kiss him back, either. I just stand there as his kiss becomes more insistent, and his hand slides to my bare thigh, fingers inching beneath the hem of my skirt.

I need to put a stop to this. I try to stand straighter, to pull away, but it’s like my limbs forgot how to respond. My pulse kicks up, not in excitement but in… something else. Panic? Nausea? I can’t tell.

A part of my brain registers a change in the atmosphere. Harsh and loud voices blend with the music, and it sounds like people are scurrying away. I strain my ears, but it’s so hard to focus when Ben’s body presses closer.

He’s grinding against me, rolling his hips like we’re in the middle of the floor instead of half-hidden by shadows. My head tips back against the wall, dizzy from the motion. My fingers twitch at my sides. I try to say something, but my tongue’s too thick in my mouth.

“Relax,” Ben murmurs, dragging his lips along my jaw. “You’re so tense.”

I don’t know what scares me more; how wrong this feels, or that my body isn’t obeying me when I try to escape his lips on my throat. His hand keeps moving—fingertips skating higher, brushing the edge of my thong.

“Come on, babe,” he whispers. “You’re so fucking hot like this. Just let me—”

Something crashes nearby, and for the briefest moment, all sounds come to a stop.

“Get your fucking hands off her!” The familiar voice cuts through the noise like a blade; low, lethal, and full of promise. “No one touches my fucking toy.”

And then… Ben’s gone.

One second, his weight is pressing into me, and the next, I feel myself falling. I try to move my arms to catch myself, but nothing happens. I close my eyes, preparing myself for an impact that never comes.

Strong arms catch me, one bracing my back, the other curving beneath my knees, lifting me like I weigh nothing at all. My head lolls against a shoulder that smells faintly of citrus and smoke.

Then everything fades and the world turns black.

Chapter 29

Lorenzo

She’s weightless in my arms, a sleeping ghost. I carry her through the cold, white hall of Arlington Diagnostic & Preventive Services, anger biting at my control with every step. It smells like fucking antiseptic and failure, a reminder of how close I came to losing her.