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Now the tablet dissolves slowly against my tongue while bass rolls through the beach hard enough to shake the fencing around the entrance gates, heat and anticipation already curling low in my stomach as lights flash somewhere farther down the shoreline.

Bad decisions really do travel in packs.

The festival stretches for miles across the coastline and dunes, massive stages towering over the beach like neon gods, LED screens flashing through clouds of smoke and heat while thousands of bodies move beneath them in glitter, sweat and barely-there fabric.

This place has a totally different vibe than the warehouse.

The warehouse always felt hidden. Underground. Dangerous in a way that whispered, but this place, it screams.

Sun-bleached sand. White canopy tents. DJs shaking the air apart while girls covered in rhinestones dance on strangers’ shoulders like they’re trying to ascend directly into another dimension.

Everything smells like saltwater, sunscreen, and weed.

Which, unfortunately, feels a little like home now.

My platform boots sink into the sand while I push deeper into the crowd, fishnet sleeves glittering beneath the sunlight.

My outfit barely qualifies as clothing—tiny holographic pink mesh draped over my body with butterfly charms catching against my skin every time I move. My split-dyed hair falls all the way down my back in thick pink and purple waves, my space buns already starting to come loose from the wind and the drugs kicking in.

Everything feels huge here.

Loud and endless.

And for the first time since waking up in that hospital bed weeks ago, the emptiness in my chest dulls slightly around the edges.

Not gone.

Never gone.

Just… quieter.

I’m halfway toward one of the shade tents when I feel it.

That weird sensation of being watched.

Not ogled or flirted with.

Watched.

The feeling crawls up my spine sharp enough to cut through the drugs for half a second.

I glance over my shoulder instinctively.

And there he is.

A guy standing near the fencing beyond the crowd, dressed completely wrong for this place.

No glitter or color.

Not even any chaos.

Just dark clothes, sunglasses, and a stare heavy enough to feel physical even from this far away. Hes weirdly intense for noon at a beach rave.

My brows pull together slightly.

The second our eyes lock, he doesn’t look away.

Doesn’t smile either.