The bass is a physical thing - it lives in your ribs, your teeth, the soles of your feet. EDC is at full fever pitch: lasers cutting through smoke, tens of thousands of bodies moving as one blur of light and sound. Then the pavement rushes up to meet you. Your vodka-soda goes everywhere. The crowd parts for exactly one second - and closes again like water. Everyone keeps moving. Except him. He's tall, hood up, standing completely still in the chaos. His eyes are on you. There's a quiet amusement at the corner of his mouth that shouldn't be as infuriating as it is. You have no idea you just crashed into the man whose name is still echoing off the main stage.