The bass hit first—
thick enough to rattle the walls, low enough to crawl under Elena's skin. She shifted her weight, scanning the packed club, trying to block out the crash of music and bodies.
This wasn't her scene. Not really. Not anymore—if it ever had been.
But Carmen had insisted—practically dragged her out of the garage, tossing blue dress at her like a challenge.
"You need one night," she'd said, arms crossed, daring her to argue. "One night where you remember there's more to life than busted engines and bad memories."
Elena hadn't had the energy to fight her. Not tonight. So here she was—standing under lights that pulsed too hard, breathing air that tasted like sweat and neon. Trying not to feel how long it had been since she'd let herself have anything even close to fun.
Carmen grinned at her now over the rim of a glowing blue drink, hair catching the light in sharp flashes.
"One night," she agreed. "And then i'm back under a hood where i belong."
Carmen laughed and pulled her toward the bar, weaving them through the crush of bodies.
The world outside—engines, grease, grief—faded just a little around the edges. Elena let herself lean into it. Just for now.
The bartender slid a drink across the counter—something sharp and citrus that Elena barely tasted.
Carmen leaned in, shouting something about dancing.
Elena waved her off with a crooked grin. Someone had to hold down the bar, after all.
Carmen disappeared into the crowd like a spark catching dry grass, leaving her alone at the edge of it all.
And honestly? It suited her just fine.
She let her gaze sweep the club—letting the sound blur, the lights smear, the bodies crash and pull around her without ever really touching. Until something shifted.
She didn't see it at first. She felt it. Like a thread pulling tight between her ribs. A weight that wasn't there before.
Her eyes caught—and held.
Across the press of bodies, through the smoke and lights, someone was watching her. Still. Unmoving. Like the rest of the room didn't exist.
Dark shirt. Even darker eyes.
He didn't smile. Didn't even blink.
Just stood there, steady, letting the distance between them burn itself smaller with every second she looked back.
Elena's chest tightened. Not fear of surprise. Something quieter. Something heavier.
The pull was instant—the kind that made you forget yourself for a second. Made you forget you ever needed walls in the first place.
She turned away, forcing her breath steady.
She wasn't here for this. She wasn't here for anyone. But the heat stayed—low against her spine, under her skin, beating a little too loud in her veins.
The pull of the crowd pressed closer, filling in the space between them.
Someone jostled Elena's arm. She blinked, dragged herself back to the present.
Carmen reappeared, flushed and grinning, two fresh drinks in hand.
"Lifeline," she said, pressing a glass into Elena's finger. "You looked like you needed it."
Elena forces a laugh, taking a sip she barely tasted.
"Just taking in the scenery," she said, shrugging one shoulder.
Carmen wiggled her eyebrows in a way that was probably meant to be subtle—and failed miserably.
"Anyone good?" she teased.
Elena shook her head, a tight smile slipping across her lips. "Not my type," she said. It wasn't a lie. Not exactly.
Because the man with the dark eyes? The one who hadn't flinched, hadn't looked away? He wasn't a type. He was a warning. And the smart part of her—the stubborn, scarred part that had kept her alive this long—knew better than to go looking for that kind of trouble.
Still...
She could feel it again—that slow drag of attention across her skin. And when she looked up—there he was.
Still in the shadows. Still steady.
His gaze locked onto hers like it had been there the whole time, waiting for her to notice again.
She didn't mean to meet his eyes. Didn't mean to hold them. But it happened anyway—something sharp, something low, pulling tight between them across the crowd.
A look that didn't ask permission. A look that said stay.
Elena swallowed hard. Pushed her gaze down—back to her drink, to the bar, to the safe noise she could drown in if she tried hard enough. She counted to three under her breath.
Then, against her better judgment, she glanced back up agan.
And he was gone. No flash of movement.
Just an empty space where he'd been standing—like the crowd had swallowed him whole.
Elena's pulse spiked in her throat.
Her eyes flicked across the room—scanning—searching without letting herself admit that's what she was doing.
Nothing.
The weight of him was gone. But the imprint stayed—burned low into her skin, humming just under the noise.
Elena shook herself once, sharp. Forced a breath past the tightness in her chest.
It was nothing.
It had to be.
The crowd swallowed the empty space he left behind.
Elena forced herself to drink, to nod along when Carmen chattered about nothing, about everything— letting the noise cover the ache building low and slow under her ribs.
She laughed when she was supposed to. Moved when Carmen tugged her into the edge of the dance floor.
Pretended.
But her mind wasn't here anymore. It was still locked on a stare that had already burned itself into her skin. On a presence that shouldn't have mattered—but did anyway.
By the time Carmen declared it was too hot, too crowded, and they needed street food immediately, Elena didn't argue.
Outside, the air hit her harder than she expected—cool, sharp, smelling like oil and city grit.
She sucked in a breath, slow and deliberate, letting it clear her head.
Carmen looped an arm through hers, steering them down the cracked sidewalk like she hadn't noticed anything at all. Elena let herself be pulled along.
One night, she'd promised. One to forget. And maybe she would. Maybe she'd wake up tomorrow and laugh at herself.
At the way one look—
one heavy, deliberate look—
had managed to sink under her skin like a blade she couldn't find to pull out.
Maybe.
But deep down, some part in her already knew better. Some things didn't just fade. Some things waited.
And she had the feeling this was only the beginning.