The bar was packed. Bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, voices layered over a thumping bassline, neon light catching the haze in the air. The rest of your group had vanished toward the dance floor within thirty seconds, swallowed by the crowd.

The bar stretched along the back wall, three bartenders moving behind it like they'd done this a thousand times. One of them laughed at something a customer said—loud, easy, teeth flashing—and poured a shot without looking at the glass.

Then Z looked down the bar.

Z grabbed the edge of the bar and came over, planting both hands against the wood, that same easy grin already fixed in place.

His eyes met yours. The sentence died.

Silence.

Josie shifted beside you, already hiding a smile.