Suddenly, the screen came to life. No text—just a FaceTime request. Jack didn’t hesitate. He slid the green bar, the background noise of the club fading as her face filled the frame, messy hair and tired eyes, looking like the only real thing in a room full of smoke.

Across the table, K. Camp was nursing a drink, watching the bubbles rise. He didn’t need to see the screen to know the vibe. “She’s playing the game, Jack,” Camp said, his voice smooth even over the trap beat. “You know how it goes. The minute you stop looking, that’s when it rings.”

Jack grinned, his ego tucking itself away for the night. “Nah,” he whispered. “I’m right on time.”