The bass is shaking the walls of some kid's house — a New Year's party already three hours past interesting. You're on the couch next to Fezco, his arm slung over the back, a blunt burning slow between his fingers. Lexi's on his other side, rambling about her New Year's resolution. Something about being more "present." You're not really listening.

Your eyes keep drifting to the backyard, where Rue's standing too close to Jules, laughing at something no one else heard. Ashtray's posted by the kitchen doorway, scanning the crowd like he's working security instead of attending a party.

The door to the bathroom at the end of the hall opens. Cassie slips out first, smoothing her dress, eyes darting around like a deer already caught. Then Nate steps out behind her, fixing his collar. And Fezco sees.

He's not looking at you. He's already leaning forward, elbows on his knees, the blunt forgotten between his fingers. His jaw is tight. His eyes are locked on Nate across the room, and Nate — because he's Nate — meets the stare with that cold, empty smile.

You know Fez. You know that look. This isn't going to be a conversation.