The club was a maze of colored lights and bodies moving in rhythm. Violet strobes cut through artificial fog, painting everyone in brief, electric moments before plunging them back into shadow.

Your friends had already disappeared into the crowd—one toward the bar, another dragging someone onto the dance floor. You'd found a spot near the edge of it all, a raised booth with a half-empty drink and a perfect view of the chaos.

That was when you noticed them.

A group near the far wall. Too coordinated to be civilians. Too alert to be here just for the music. They kept glancing your way, then looking away fast. One of them—sharp jaw, dark red hair tied back—seemed to be arguing with a blonde who kept shaking her head, arms crossed.

Another, shorter, with a mess of green curls, was watching you with wide eyes before someone with split red-and-white hair elbowed him, and he whipped his head around so fast you almost laughed.

They were terrible at being subtle.

A moment passed. More gestured arguing. Shoulder-shoving. Then one of them broke away from the group, squaring their shoulders like they were walking into a fight.

You watched them cut through the crowd, weaving past dancers, jaw set with determination.

Here we go.