The party was loud enough to bruise the air.
Bass thumped through the walls, like the building had a heartbeat, shaking picture frames and expensive glassware on shelves that definitely cost more than his monthly rent. Lights pulsed in neon blues and pinks, cutting the living room into sharp fragments. Every surface gleamed: polished wood, glossy countertops, glass tables with nothing practical on them.
Hao stepped inside and had to remind himself not to turn around and walk right back out.
The door shut behind him, swallowing the cooler hallway air. Heat rolled over him from bodies packed too tight into a space built to show off, not to breathe in.
He'd dressed as well as his closet allowed: a black T-shirt that actually fit properly for once, not too loose, not too tight, hanging just right over his shoulders and chest. Dark jeans. Clean sneakers. No jacket. It made him feel weirdly exposed.
Glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, the thin frames softening his usual sharp stare. He didn't really need them tonight. His blessing made sure of that. But people treated you differently when you had glass between you and the world.
He carried a water bottle.
Not one of the sleek metal ones. A crinkly plastic thing he'd bought on the way, condensation sliding down its side onto his fingers.
People glanced at it, then at him, then decided not to comment.
The apartment was big. High ceiling, wide living room, open kitchen in the back where bottles lined the counter like trophies. A sliding door opened onto a balcony where smokers and "I need air" types huddled under string lights.
Hao's motes stirred as he moved further in, spreading out under his skin, mapping the space without asking permission. Every figure within four meters became a small mark in his awareness: warm, moving, pulsing. A shifting web of heartbeats and motion.
Music pounded. Voices layered over it, rising and falling with practiced carelessness.
"Yo! Hao!"
Someone materialized from the side, smelling like expensive deodorant and cheap beer. He clapped Hao on the shoulder, grip somewhere between friendly and possessive.
"You actually came," the person shouted over the music, eyes widening. "Thought you were gonna ghost again."
"Yea," Hao said.
The young man grinned. "Drinks in the kitchen, couch if you wanna sit, balcony if you wanna pretend you're deep."
He was pulled away by someone calling his name before Hao could respond.
Hao took a breath, let it out, and forced himself to move.
He mingled.
Briefly.
A cluster of girls stood near the far side of the room, where the lights hit just softly enough to flatter everyone and the music didn't melt words into pure noise. They were pretty in different ways: bold makeup, bare shoulders, nails that looked like they could cut glass.
When he drifted close enough, one of them turned, eyes catching on his face.
"Hey," she said, a little too brightly. "You're from my school, right? Hao?"
"Yeah." He shifted the water bottle to his other hand.
Names washed over him. He caught maybe two.
The blessing wrapped around him like a half-remembered coat. His motes, usually just watching, nudged gently at the air between them.
Just small adjustments.
A little ease in their shoulders. A bit more warmth in their voices. A nudge to his own confidence so the words didn't feel like he had to drag them out of cement.
They laughed at something he said that wasn't particularly funny. One touched his arm as she joked. Another leaned in a little closer to hear him over the music, even though his voice was clear enough.
He answered their questions. School. The gym. Whether he knew any of the people they did. They seemed genuinely curious, or at least interested in the novelty of him being there at all.
It should have been enough.
Normal conversation at a normal party with normal people.
His motes drifted, constantly sampling the atmosphere. Heartbeats all around him pounded fast from alcohol and dancing. Blood rushed. Lungs strained. Sweat collected and evaporated in the thick air.
Then a whisper cut through the noise and hooked into him.
"That girl's insane," someone said behind him. "And she's not even tipsy."
"Oh, Soph?" another voice answered. "She got dumped last week. She hasn't recovered."
. His spine straightened before he even decided to move.
Hao didn't care about her breakup. Didn't care about whatever melodrama had people talking like they were narrating a cheap drama.
What caught him was something else.
His motes brushed against a presence at the edge of their radius.
And recoiled.
Not slightly. Not a subtle twitch. They jerked back like they'd been burned, then edged forward again, cautious and wary. His awareness sharpened in that direction without him turning his head.
Her heartbeat crawled.
Everyone else's hearts hammered along with the music, too fast, too loud, trying to keep up with alcohol and adrenaline.
Hers lagged behind.
Slow.
Measured.
Wrong.
Blood moved through her veins too deliberately, like it was traveling through thicker pipes. Like the pump behind it didn't understand human tempo.
His senses skimmed over her like a hand over stone. Her body felt dense. Heavy in a way that had nothing to do with weight and everything to do with… composition.
Not absence of life.
Something twisted around it.
Something that didn't match the patterns he recognized as "human" anymore.
He felt it in the way the motes shifted, their patterns going from lazy orbit to tight, defensive clusters. The Anchor hummed faintly at the edge of his mind, a low tone like it was paying closer attention.
Hao wet his lips, the water bottle suddenly cold and ridiculous in his hand. The girls near him were still talking, but their voices had faded into a blur.
He turned his head.
Across the room, near the kitchen island overflowing with bottles and plastic cups, she stood.
Back against the counter. One hand wrapped loosely around a glass. Hair fallen over her shoulder. Face half-lit by flashing colors.
Laughing at something someone just said.
Her throat moved as she swallowed another drink.
His motes flinched again, the same way they would if he pushed them toward an exposed wire.
Something was wrong.
Very, very wrong.