The first indicator of a catastrophic shift was the lights. Above us, three neon bulbs in the VIP section gave a sharp, synchronized pop, showering the floor behind the booth in harmless, cascading sparks.
But the second, far more dangerous indicator was Callie herself.
She turned her head to look at me, and the anxiety that usually tightened the corners of her eyes was entirely gone. It was replaced by a hazy, thoroughly intoxicated, and incredibly soft expression.
“Nate,” she whispered, her words slurring together beautifully.
“Callie,” I replied, forcing my voice to remain level, though my heart rate was already beginning to climb. “How are you feeling? Your pupils are dilating rapidly.”
“I feel…” She giggled, a sweet, musical sound that made my chest give a violent, entirely unsci
