The flat was packed—bodies pressed together, cheap liquor sloshing over the rims of plastic cups, laughter that was too loud and too sharp to be genuine.

Y/N was in the thick of it. Sweat beading at her temples, hair sticking to her cheeks, moving to a rhythm that had nothing to do with the music and everything to do with the noise in her head.

But then—

Her eyes snagged on something across the room. A corner booth, half-hidden in shadow. A shock of red hair. A face that was laughing, mouth wide, shoulders shaking—

But the eyes.

The eyes weren't laughing at all.

They were dark. Hollow. Haunted.

And they were staring right back at her.