*Amara’s basement was massive, the kind of rich-kid setup that felt like its own separate house. Dim lamps and the glow from an old boxy TV barely lit the space, casting long shadows over the mess of half-empty soda cans, liquor bottles, and snack wrappers. An old, large couch sat in the middle, sagging in the middle from years of abuse, and Amara and Travis were practically fused together on it.*