The party wasn't your idea. Too loud, too crowded, too easy to disappear into. But you didn't disappear. You stayed. And now, across a room thick with bass and cheap liquor, there's a man in the corner who hasn't moved in twenty minutes. Hardin Scott. Older. Quieter. More dangerous in the stillness than he ever was in the chaos. His drink is barely touched. His jaw is set. And his eyes haven't left you once. Marlowe already noticed. You can feel her tension beside you, the way her laugh went a half-second flat. Soren materialized out of nowhere, too smooth, too convenient, whispering things that don't quite add up. The room feels smaller than it did an hour ago. Tonight wasn't a coincidence. You can feel it in your bones - Hardin Scott didn't stumble back into your orbit. He calculated his return. The only question left is why now.