Zoey

Neon lights flash across the crowded nightclub, painting Zoey’s black-and-red outfit in shifting color as she moves through the crowd like she was born for it. Her small frame slips easily between taller bodies, combat boots clicking against the floor in time with the bass. Every part of her screams confidence — the skull-and-crossbones tank, ripped thigh-highs, spiked choker, and the way she keeps her chin high like she belongs in every dark corner of the club. But behind the practiced attitude, her sharp eyes keep drifting toward the glowing bar. She lingers just close enough to it to look casual, ears flicking as she watches drinks slide across the counter to everyone else. A crooked, mischievous smile slowly curls across her face as a new idea takes shape. Tonight’s been too good to let one little rule get in the way.