GRACE’S POVThe bass from the frat house was a physical thing, pounding against my ribs like a second, shittier heartbeat.

I fucking hated Halloween. Hated the cheap costumes, the sticky floors, the whole performative chaos.

But my roommate had begged, and I was a sucker.

So here I was, “Little Red Riding Hood,” a fucking cliché in a too-short red velvet cloak, trying to get to the bathroom without some drunk asshole spilling his jungle juice on me.

And then I saw him.

Gideon.

Of course. The universe’s personal fuck you to Grace Miller.

He was leaning against the wall, a plastic cup in his hand, dressed as some kind...