Chapter 3 — The Party That Never Ends
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Part 1 — Champagne and Static
The night stretched like elastic, and Aria was determined not to hear it snap.
The Monarch's baccarat table had stripped her stack to almost nothing, so Sienna whisked her into the kind of after-party that existed only by whispered directions. A terrace turned lounge, a lounge turned shrine to glitter. Someone had dragged chandeliers outside and hung them from scaffolds. They swayed in the desert wind, spilling light onto bodies that moved like smoke.
Champagne bottles popped at odd rhythms, a counterpoint to the DJ's endless pulse.
"See?" Sienna shouted over the bass. "Vegas never stops—it just mutates."
Aria laughed, though the sound tasted brittle. The glow from the LED crown on her head flickered. She hadn't remembered putting it on, but now it felt welded to her skull.
"Breathe, babe," Sienna said, pressing another glass into her hand. "You're too pretty to frown."
Aria tipped it back, bubbles and static fizzing down her throat. For a heartbeat, the world blurred soft again, just the way she wanted.
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Part 2 — Rat's Kingdom
The terrace bent into a corridor, then into something stranger. A door that didn't belong opened into a stairwell that reeked of damp concrete.
"Where are we?" Aria asked.
"Where fun grows teeth," Sienna said with a grin.
At the bottom, the storm-drain kingdom pulsed alive. Graffiti scrawled across concrete pillars, string lights tangled overhead, a disco ball suspended from a bent pipe. Music bounced off the walls until even silence would have been loud.
"Princess!" Rat spotted them, his pompadour wilting, his jacket too big, his grin too wide. He bounded over and kissed the air near Aria's cheek. "Welcome to the kingdom of low rent and high vibes!"
"You run this?" Aria asked.
"I run nothing," Rat said proudly. "I just host the chaos. Careful—she bites." He pointed to a girl in sequins gnawing playfully on a glowstick.
Aria almost smiled. Rat was ridiculous, like a cartoon shoved into flesh. And yet his eyes were clear, unsettlingly clear, as if he saw through the fog she wrapped around herself.
"You look lost," he said softly.
"I'm not lost," she lied.
"Good," he replied. "Because in tunnels, lost people drown first."
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Part 3 — The Weight of Silence
The music surged again, a saxophone weaving through electronic beats. Aria let Sienna pull her into the crowd. Bodies pressed, sweat slicked, perfume and smoke mingled into a cocktail of sin.
For a few minutes, she let go. The rhythm climbed into her bones, and her body moved without her permission. She spun, hair whipping, eyes closed—just sound, just motion.
Then the lights flickered.
Once. Twice. Longer the third time.
The crowd booed, laughed, shrugged it off. Rat climbed onto a milk crate, yelling, "Don't panic, children! Even God's allowed a cough!"
But Aria's skin prickled. She thought she heard something beneath the bass—a hum, low and wet, like the city's throat clearing.
"Do you feel that?" she asked Sienna.
"Feel what?"
Aria's LED crown dimmed. The air smelled faintly of rain.
"It doesn't rain in Vegas," she whispered.
Sienna only laughed and pressed another drink into her hand.
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Part 4 — Trouble in Sequins
By the bar, the hedge fund smile from earlier reappeared, teeth brighter than sense. He slid an arm around Aria.
"Hey, lucky charm," he drawled. "Dance with me."
"No," she said, sharper than intended.
He leaned closer, breath hot with whiskey. "Come on, princess. What happens in Vegas—"
Before he could finish, Rat materialized, slipping between them with a laugh that cut too clean. "Careful, Wall Street. Princess bites harder than you can afford."
The man glared but backed off, muttering.
Aria blinked at Rat. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me," Rat said cheerfully. "Just don't die down here. It ruins the vibe."
He winked and spun away, but his words settled heavier than champagne.
Sienna tugged her back onto the floor, but Aria's mind kept circling the phrase: don't die down here.
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Part 5 — The Stairway Down
Hours blurred, or maybe minutes. The tunnel had no clocks. At some point, Aria stumbled toward the corridor leading back to the stairwell. The hum was louder here, vibrating through the concrete like a hidden pulse.
She paused. A draft of cold air licked her ankles. A door stood ajar farther down the corridor, blackness spilling from it like ink.
"Don't," Sienna's voice cut through the noise, sharper than ever. She seized Aria's wrist. "That's where fun ends."
"What's down there?" Aria whispered.
Sienna's smile was too quick. "Storage. Rats. Nothing worth seeing."
But Aria could swear she heard laughter in the dark—a laugh too high, too strange, echoing like a cartoon in the wrong place.
Her Mark of privilege—the choker, the diamonds, the life she had tried to bury under sequins—suddenly felt like weights.
For the first time all night, she wanted out.
Part 5 — The Stairway Down
Hours blurred, or maybe minutes. The tunnel had no clocks. At some point, Aria stumbled toward the corridor leading back to the stairwell. The hum was louder here, vibrating through the concrete like a hidden pulse.
She paused. A draft of cold air licked her ankles. A door stood ajar farther down the corridor, blackness spilling from it like ink.
"Don't," Sienna's voice cut through the noise, sharper than ever. She seized Aria's wrist. "That's where fun ends."
"What's down there?" Aria whispered.
Sienna's smile was too quick. "Storage. Rats. Nothing worth seeing."
But Aria could swear she heard laughter in the dark—a laugh too high, too strange, echoing like a cartoon in the wrong place.
Her Mark of privilege—the choker, the diamonds, the life she had tried to bury under sequins—suddenly felt like weights.
For the first time all night, she wanted out.
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Part 6 — Rat's Gospel
Before she could move, Rat appeared again, balancing on the edge of a broken couch like it was a throne. His voice carried over the music, louder than his frame should have allowed.
"Ladies and gentlemen, sinners and saints, a sermon for the lost!"
The crowd cheered, half-drunk, half-devout. Rat grinned like a jester and spread his arms.
"We live in the belly of Vegas," he declared. "Above us, gods gamble with glass towers and neon fire. Down here, we are honest. No rules but survival. No currency but courage. No lies except the ones we sing."
The crowd roared. Aria couldn't look away.
Rat's eyes flicked to hers, just for a heartbeat, and his grin faltered. His gaze sharpened, cutting through the chaos.
"You feel it, don't you?" he said softly, though somehow she heard it clear. "The city breathing. The tunnel waiting."
Aria's throat went dry. She didn't answer. She couldn't.
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Part 7 — The Pull of Darkness
The night staggered forward, music relentless, people swaying like they were tethered to the same invisible string.
But Aria's attention kept dragging back to that dark stairwell, the hum rising like a secret too heavy for silence. Every time the lights flickered, she thought she saw movement at its mouth. A shadow that didn't belong to any dancer.
Sienna kept pulling her deeper into the crowd, laughing, drinking, daring. But the weight in Aria's chest grew. The tunnel wasn't just under the city—it was under her skin.
Rat sidled up again, crown of glowsticks now crooked on his head. "Careful, princess," he murmured. "The dark likes girls who run from fathers."
Her blood iced. "How do you—"
Rat only winked. "I know too much. Comes with the territory."
And then he melted back into the noise, leaving her alone with the hum, the darkness, and a truth she hadn't wanted anyone to name.
[End of Chapter 3]