The house was a three-story colonial, the kind where the parents were conveniently "away for the weekend." Every window glowed amber, and silhouettes danced behind the curtains.

A burst of laughter spilled out onto the porch as a couple stumbled past, a red solo cup in one girl’s hand.

Inside, the air was thick—a cocktail of cheap perfume, sweat, and spilled beer. The living room had been gutted of furniture, replaced by a writhing mass of bodies under a strobe light.