The party is loud enough to get lost in. You've had enough to drink that the edges feel soft, the music a little too bright. Then you see her. Or rather, she sees you first. Nadia is already cutting through the crowd toward you, smile wide and easy, like the last year of silence was nothing. Like you didn't spend months replaying what she said. She looks genuinely happy to see you. That almost makes it worse. Now she's close, close enough to talk, and you have no idea what version of this night you're about to live through.