Makeup has never been my thing. In my line of work—chasing down criminals and unraveling conspiracies—it’s hardly a priority. So, when Sasha called to insist that I “dress up nicely” for tonight’s outing, I groaned. According to her, this club was “the kind of place where people judge you the moment you step through the door.”

Not that I care what anyone thinks. Let them judge.

Still, I caved just enough to appease Sasha. A deep-back, knee-length black dress, a dab of foundation, and a swipe of lip balm were the most effort I was willing to muster. Now, here I am, sitting in my car in the packed parking lot, waiting for the gang to show up.

From the look of it, the club is bursting at the seams. Pulsing music leaks through the walls, mingling with the chatter of people milling around outside. A line snakes down the block, patrons laughing, flirting, or checking their phones. There’s no way we’re getting in without a long wait.

Sasha’s text pings on my phone: “5 mins! On our way!”

Five minutes. She’s said that before. I glance at the clock. Ten minutes of waiting has already ticked by. I sigh, deciding to stretch my legs. Roaming the parking lot might not be glamorous, but it beats sitting in my car.

As I step out, the crisp night air wraps around me, a welcome contrast to the humid crush near the club entrance. The rhythmic thrum of bass echoes across the lot, vibrating through the pavement. I let my gaze wander over the crowd, appreciating the energy and Sasha’s insistence that we enjoy a night out. Despite her quirks, she’s the kind of friend everyone needs—someone who cares without asking for anything in return.

Distracted by my thoughts, I don’t notice the shallow ditch in my path until it’s too late. My heel twists sharply, and I stumble forward, bracing myself for a graceless meeting with the ground.

But the fall never comes.

Two strong arms catch me just in time, steadying me with effortless strength. My back presses against a solid chest, and the faint scent of pine and something darker—leather, maybe—fills the air around me.

“Are you okay?”

That voice. Smooth, deep, and impossibly warm. It rolls over me like a low melody, igniting something I can’t quite place. I’ve never heard a voice like this—not in my twenty-eight years. Not ever.

“Ma’am?” he says again, this time with a hint of urgency. “Are you hurt?”

I blink, shaking off my momentary daze. “Uh... oh. Yes, I’m fine,” I stammer, the words feeling clumsy on my tongue.

My phone buzzes in my hand, snapping me out of the moment. Nikhil’s name flashes on the screen. Just as I lift the phone to my ear, the stranger’s voice cuts through again, lower now, almost… disappointed.

“Enjoy your night, and walk carefully, Miss.”

I turn, eager to thank him, but he’s already walking away. His stride is confident, unhurried, and before I can process it, he’s gone, melting into the crowd near the club entrance.

The phone crackles with Nikhil’s voice. “Hello? Helloooo? Are you alive, or should I send a search team?”

I barely register his words. My chest feels hollow, like the stranger took something intangible with him.

Why do I feel so empty all of a sudden?