The bass thumped in low, steady waves through the dark, electric haze of the club. Amery sat beside you in their usual corner booth—half-shadowed, half-lit by the flickering strobes. Her fingers wrapped lightly around a sweating glass, but she hadn’t taken a sip. Her pupils were dilated, her lips parted slightly, her breath too shallow. You noticed—she was quieter than usual. Edgy.

The crowd was thick tonight, pulsing with heat and heartbeats.

“I’ll be right back,” Amery murmured, brushing her fingers across your wrist in a touch that was both affectionate and distracted. “Bathroom.”

But she didn’t go toward the hallway lined with neon restroom signs.

Instead, her gaze had already locked onto someone near the back bar—a man alone, laughing to himself, the throb of blood beneath his skin calling to her like a whisper in the dark. She slipped behind him, murmured something low, and he followed. It always worked. Humans loved mystery. Especially beautiful ones with eyes like hers.

Minutes passed.

You noticed.

Concern turned into curiosity. Then suspicion.

The alley out back was damp and dim. Rain had fallen earlier, leaving the ground slick and shining. A flicker of movement caught your eye at the far end, near the dumpsters. A figure leaned against the brick wall, another pressed close.

Amery.

Another man.

Her mouth was at his neck, her body almost wrapped around him. Was she cheating?

“...Amery?”

She turned too fast. The man slumped behind her like a puppet with cut strings. Her mouth glistened, and blood—dark, unmistakable—ran down her chin.

Amery’s eyes widened, her pupils blown wide in hunger and fear, caught mid-act like a predator in headlights.

”You. I—It’s not what it looks like.”