[INDENT][COLOR=SLATEGRAY][CENTER][sup][sup][h1][center][img] https://media.architecturaldigest.com/photos/672d4a5b823a46b3d7f713e1/16:9/w_2560%2Cc_limit/GettyImages-1867432941.jpg[/img][/center][b][center][color=black] S T .  D Y M P H N A ‘ S  H O M E[/color]
[color=lightgray]S T .  D Y M P H N A ‘ S  H O M E[/color][/center]
[/b][/h1][/sup][/sup]
[sup][sup][h1][b][center][color=black] F O R  W A Y W A R D  Y O U T H S[/color]
[color=lightgray]F O R  W A Y W A R D  Y O U T H S[/color][/center]
[/b][/h1][/sup][/sup]
[color=silver][sup][i]Joanie[/i][/sup][/color][/CENTER][/color][/INDENT]
[color=9174cb]“If you look too much up there it will look back at you.”[/color]

The warning clung to Joanie long after the strange woman drifted away into the crowd. It echoed in her mind with a weight she could not shake. She found herself glancing toward the window above the club floor again, half expecting those pale eyes to still be fixed on her. But the room was dark now. Whoever had been watching her was gone.

She let out a slow breath.

The woman had been strange. Older, brunette, pupils blown wide until they swallowed the colour of her irises. A strange, restless energy clinging to her like static. She was older, but there was something ageless in her expression, something that made Joanie feel like she was being studied by someone who had lived through too many nights like this. It had been obvious she was on coke. Underage drinking was one thing but that was a line she personally did not care for. Yet somehow it suited the woman, like she had been carved perfectly to fit the chaos of Harborlight.

When she finally slipped away into the crowd, Joanie let out a breath she had not realised she was holding. She felt a flicker of disappointment, which surprised her, followed by a wash of relief. The woman had been odd, unpredictable, but there had been something magnetic about her too. She’d been hot too. 

Her thoughts drifted back to Caleb. She hated that his lips were still on her mind. 


She turned instead toward the dance floor.

Trey and Mina were dancing together, laughing, leaning in close. Mina’s dress shimmered under the lights. Trey’s grin was wide and unguarded. They looked good together. She almost debating leaving them to it. Where would the fun in that be though?

Besides, Trey deserved the cockblocking anyway for not warning her Caleb was here.

She pushed herself off the barstool and crossed the floor toward them. Mina spotted her first and lit up. Trey reached out and pulled her into their little circle without hesitation. They wrapped their arms around each other, swaying with the music, the three of them pressed together in a way that felt safe and familiar.

Joanie let herself smile.

And so they danced. They danced and they laughed, and they enjoyed themselves. For a small period they were free from the petty boy problems and job interviews.

[hr]
It was a while later that a sudden shift in the room’s energy rippled through the crowd as the music dipped and lights swung toward the centre of the club. From where they stood, they could see that the small construction project they had spotted before was the assembly of a small arena. Metal railings, a circular platform, and atmospheric steam rising from vents beneath the floor.

Joanie, Mina, and Trey drifted toward the railing with everyone else, curiosity pulling them forward. The air vibrated with anticipation. People pressed in close, eyes bright, drinks sloshing.

A Gray stepped forward, his throat glowing a faint blue from under the skin . When he spoke, his voice boomed across the entire club without a microphone.

“Welcome to Harborlight,” he called, his voice rolling through the room like a wave. “How are we feeling tonight.”

The crowd erupted in a roar of excitement.

He grinned, soaking in the noise.

“Let us meet our first fighter,” he said, sweeping an arm toward the left entrance. “The man who burns hotter than your worst decisions. Make some noise for Cinderjack.”

A figure stepped into the arena.

He was shirtless, wearing dark gym shorts that clung to his muscular frame. His skin was a patchwork of vicious burns and inked tattoos, each one catching the light in a different way. A blonde mustache sat above a sharp jaw, and his hair cut into a modern mullet. If Joanie had to guess he was probably in his mid twenties. He wore sunglasses despite being indoors, tilting them down just enough to smirk at the crowd. Flames crawled across his arms in a brief display, heat rolling off him in a wave that made Joanie realise there was no barrier between the arena and the audience beyond the simple railing.

The crowd roared louder as he hyped them up, basking in the attention.

“And facing him,” the announcer continued, “the tide that never stops rising. The one who flows, crashes, and never breaks. Give it up for Rill.”

From the opposite entrance stepped a woman with one side of her head shaved, the rest of her hair streaked with blue. She had the lean, powerful build of a swimmer, her navy athleisure wear clinging to her frame. She lifted an arm to the crowd, calm and confident, her expression focused. 

Joanie felt a spark of excitement. 

She thought back to the nights she and Trey used to stay up late in the common room at St Dymphna’s, the two of them huddled under a blanket with the volume turned low so the staff wouldn’t hear. They watched wrestling for hours, whisper‑commentating every move, loving every ridiculous twist even though it was obviously fake. They knew it was fake. That was half the fun.

She couldn’t wait to see the shoddy acting on show tonight.