Alex
I honestly thought Allan meant a regular student party. You know—cheap drinks, bad lighting, someone crying in the bathroom. But the moment Jennifer and I stepped out of her car and saw the velvet ropes and the masked doorman who looked like he bench-pressed people for fun… I knew this wasn’t that.
“This is… not what he described,” Jennifer whispered, adjusting her glittery mask.
“No,” I said, my stomach doing that anxious somersault it had learned since moving into the Alcatraz mansion. “And I feel like we’re being watched.”
We were directed down a narrow hallway that opened into the kind of club you only see in rumors. Dim lighting, gold-tinted shadows, half-nude waiters carrying trays like they were offering souls, not drinks. Everywhere, little private tables where men in suit
