The flash vanished as fast as it had flared, swallowed by the dim lights and the heavy beat of the music.
Maria and Ethan pulled apart, glancing casually around the room, but everyone was caught up in their own conversations, their own laughter. They settled back, smirking, and never saw the figure in the far corner slide a phone into a pocket and slip quietly out.
Hours later, Maria stumbled through her front door, heels in one hand, half‑empty glass in the other. Her head spun, her dress askew, the scent of wine clinging thick to her skin.
Peter was pacing the hallway, hands clenched tight, shoulders hunched with tension. He spun around the moment she stepped inside.
“Where have you been?” His voice was low, sharp, like a cracking stone. “And when did you start drinking like this?”
