The floor shook as the first speaker stack toppled, hitting the tiles with a crack that vibrated up my shins. A ripple of cheers surged through the crowd anyway—drunk on bass, drunk on anger, drunk on the strange courage that comes when you can’t hear your own thoughts properly. Strobe lights stitched the hall into jagged frames: faces split into laughter and grimness, hands raised like a forest of verdicts.

“Move!” Amir shouted, yanking my elbow. His palm was slick with sweat.

We pushed through bodies toward the emergency exit, but the corridor beyond was jammed with people spilling out, eyes wide, mouths moving in silent arguments. The music kept pounding from inside—an iron heart refusing to stop—until the fire alarm joined in, shrieking a higher note that turned the whole building into one violent chord.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Again. Again.

I didn’t look. I already knew who it was.