I don't run.
That's the first mistake.
The second is looking up.
The man in the dark suit is standing too close—close enough that I can smell him. Clean. Sharp. Something expensive that shouldn't feel this dangerous. His hand comes down, slow, deliberate, and closes around my wrist before I can move.
Not tight.
Certain.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asks quietly.
"I got a text," I say, trying to pull free.
He doesn't let me.
He glances at my phone, still glowing in my other hand. Run. His jaw tightens, just barely.
"Did you?" he says. "Or did you get baited?"
The music swells. The room is alive again—laughing, drinking, oblivious. No one is watching us. That somehow makes it worse.
He leans in, his mouth near my ear but not touching. The heat of him presses down my spine.
"Listen to me very carefully," he murmurs. "If someone tells you to run in this house, it's because they want to see what happens when you do."
I swallow.
"And what happens?" I ask.
His thumb brushes my pulse.
"People notice."
My breath catches. He feels it. Of course he does.
From across the room, the man with the sharp smile is watching us now. His eyes meet mine. He lifts his glass slightly, like a toast.
I hate how my body reacts.
The woman in black has disappeared.
"Who are you?" I ask the man holding me.
A pause.
Then, softer, almost amused: "That's the wrong question."
He releases my wrist—but instead of stepping back, he shifts closer. I'm pinned between him and the marble table behind me, his hand braced just beside my hip. He doesn't touch me. Not really.
That's the worst part.
"You were invited," he says. "Which means someone powerful wants access to you."
"I don't know anyone powerful."
He smiles then. Not kind.
"No," he agrees. "But they know you."
A hand slides into my field of vision—belonging to the man with the sharp smile now standing beside us.
"You shouldn't scare her," he says lightly. "She's still deciding which of us to trust."
My stomach drops.
"Which of you?" I repeat.
He looks at me like I've just said something adorable.
"Oh," he says. "You didn't think this was a coincidence, did you?"
The lights flicker.
Just once.
Every phone in the room buzzes simultaneously.
A collective inhale. A ripple of confusion.
Then mine vibrates again.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:Too late. He already touched you.
I look up—straight into the dark-suited man's eyes.
Something in them changes.
"Who sent that?" I whisper.
He doesn't answer.
Instead, he leans closer and says, so softly only I can hear:
"Now you belong to the game."