Chapter Text
It is a long night of waiting ahead, the man realizes with dread. Thus is the life of a “limousine driver,” or whatever.
Ryan has been on the trail of these kids for months now—watching from the shadows, digging up information; just being a general creep. His mother would be so proud.
In short, he is ready for this assignment to be over. He didn’t know when things became so convoluted and messy. He thought a security position with the government would be something more…noble; he thought it would distance him from the shameful and cutthroat nature of the streets. But as it turns out, this job had been no less bloody, immoral, and dangerous. The government is shifty—who would have thought?
The man stands on the outskirts of the banquet hall, observing the flocks of fancy, conventionally attractive people as they eat and mingle. He spots his kids—in fact, he has hardly taken his eye off of them since they stepped out of the limousine he drove them here in. They are sitting together at a round table near the left hand corner of the room. They are smiling; laughing even.
Calm before the storm.
“Ryan.”
The brawny bald man turns. His jaw nearly drops.
“Maverick?” He gaps incredulously. “You weren't assigned to this—.”
“—Things have changed.” The slender, raven haired man steps beside him. “And I have a proposition for you.”
Suddenly, it feels as though the temperature in the room has dropped fifty degrees. Ryan does everything he can to maintain his poker face, but the man can do nothing to restrain the shiver that rides down his spine.
“The facility has breached our trust; they are coming for the children tonight.” Though Maverick speaks calmly, expression unflappable; Ryan can practically taste the disdain in the man's voice—it bites like poison.
“No…” Ryan says, running a hand over his buzzed hair. “…Tonight?”
“—They think they've discovered a cure, but Ryan, I can assure you they have not. They have merely grown impatient and reckless—their cure is every part barbaric and cruel.”
Ryan swallows.
“—But Ryan, if you join me and my followers, I'll free you from this mess. If you help me protect and secure the children tonight, I'll give you everything you need to start over.” Maverick steps behind Ryan, meandering to the man's other side and leaning in close. Ryan stands as still as a board, Maverick's breath in his ear; lanky arm snaked around his shoulder.
“—A new name; a new home; and enough money to last you for the rest of your life.”
Ryan breathes, furrowing his brow and clenching his fists.
“...What's the plan?”
“Ashlyn.”
The red-haired girl hasn't yet had time to set down her plate of food when Tyler Hernandez flanks her. He sounds serious—the kind of serious reserved for discussions about weapons, and plans, and phantoms.
“Woah, did someone die?” Aiden says comically upon seeing the grave, sullen looks of the teens at the table. Taylor looks ill. Logan's eyes go wide as he discreetly gestures to ‘cut it out’ beside his own neck.
“...Yes?” Ashlyn asks slowly, raising a confused brow.
“Come over here, actually.” Tyler says, beaming Aiden with a distrustful glance, as he grabs Ashlyn's elbow. While her compliance is begrudging, Ashlyn allows Tyler to pull her a few meters away from their table.
“...Look.” He says somewhat hesitantly. Ashlyn doesn't miss the hesitation in his eyes, the tint to his cheeks. “I…Could you ask your parents to check on my mom?” He manages to coerce out of his own mouth. “I tried to call her and…she, uh, didn't answer.”
Ashlyn studies him. Tyler didn't ask for favors—that is the first oddity. “Uh, yeah, sure.” Ashlyn says. “Give me a sec—” The girl pulls out her phone and begins to think through a message to send to her parents. She pauses.
“Ty.” Ashlyn says, putting down her phone for a moment. Her voice is steady yet patient. “Am I missing something? Is…is your mom okay?” She is asking him for transparency and honesty, though she has already made up her mind that, if he pushes back against her question, she will not press him any further. She knew that home and family were sensitive subjects for the Hernandez twins. She knew a lot of things—things she was not meant to hear; things meant to be hidden by whispers and private conversations. Ashlyn does her best not to listen, not to pry into matters where she shouldn't be.
But maybe she should. Maybe friends are supposed to push sometimes.
She doesn't know. She doesn't know how to do any of this.
Tyler's expression becomes something unreadable. She cannot tell if he is going to yell at her or break down crying. His jaw is clenched as he looks from one of her olive eyes to the other.
Secrets must be the theme tonight, Ashlyn thinks to herself. First Logan, now Tyler.
“...She forgets things sometimes.” He finally admits quietly and painfully.
“Okay.” Ashlyn says slowly. “Like, ‘forgot my phone in the car's forgetful, or…” She doesn't finish her train of thought purely for Tyler's sake—it's as if every word coming out of her mouth is a splinter gruesomely sliding beneath his skin.
“...I’ll tell you everything. I promise. Just…” Tyler chews on the inside of his cheek. “—Just not right now. Not tonight.” For Tyler, this is practically begging. “Could you please just message your parents?”
“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” She nods. “I'll let you know when I hear back.”
“Thank you.” He says in a small voice. He lingers for but a moment in a bout of uncharacteristic uncertainty. Tyler is not one for uncertainty, Ashlyn does know this.
The two return to the table.
“These little drinks are really good.” Taylor says happily, swirling around a small, red glass. “And dude, mini cheese cubes?” She says, holding up a few small cubes of colby-jack cheese between her fingers. “—pure bliss.” The girl smiles as she pops them into her mouth.
Ben nods enthusiastically, pure joy on the boy's face as he chows down on a rotisserie chicken leg. Tyler pensively scoots the food on his plate around with a utensil.
Beneath the bouquet of roses in the center of the table is a small stack of paper cards. “Hey,” Ashlyn asks with curiosity. “What are those cards for?”
“Oh! Those are conversation cards.” Aiden explains through a mouthful of half-chewed ham and cheese sliders. “They have fun little questions on them for everyone to answer. We should totally—”
“—Dude, don't talk with food in your mouth, that's disgusting.” Tyler interrupts. Aiden turns to the sullen boy and begins smacking his mouth excessively. “Ugh! Stop—”
“That sounds fun!” Taylor says. “We should ask them to each other."
Logan and Ashlyn share an uneasy look—the red haired girl is grateful she has at least one antisocial ally seated at the table. Ashlyn thinks for a moment; perhaps antisocial is the wrong word—both she and Logan care deeply for their friends and enjoy the time they spend around each other. But when it comes to activities that the two consider to be enjoyable, making small talk is not at the top of the list. It is also not on the bottom of the list because it isn't on the list at all.
However, yet another thing the two of them share in common is a weakness: Taylor Hernandez.
Logan caves first. “Yeah.” He says quietly once he has swallowed down a bite of home-prepared chicken alfredo. “Yeah, I guess we could do that.”
“Look, at that.” Tyler says, gesturing to Logan while shooting Aiden an intense side eye. “Manners.”
“Blah, blah, blah—you’re not exactly Mr. Fancy-Smancy yourself, half-wit. Let a guy live.” Aiden says, rolling his eyes. “Here, I'll go first,” He says, reaching into the center of the table to retrieve a card. The boy scans over the card for a moment, before locking eyes with Ashlyn.
Just my luck. She thinks to herself.
“Alright, Ash, this one's for you.” He says with a grin. “‘Who has been the most influential person in your life?’”
‘That's not so bad,’ Ashlyn thinks. The red-haired girl doesn't need to think too long to come up with an honest answer. “Probably my parents.”
Something in Aiden's face softens. “Cool.” He says sincerely. “Wanna build on that at all, or…?”
“Uh, not really.” She admits. “—They've just always been there for me. Very supportive.” She says quickly. “Um, yeah. That's it. Do I draw now?”
“Yup!”
Ashlyn reaches into the middle to pull a card from the top of the stack. She takes a moment to read it.
“Uh, Ben.” She says. The boy pops up from his plate to look at her. He seems somewhat surprised, but also honored to be the recipient of her question. “‘What has inspired you lately?’” Ashlyn reads off the card.
Ben nods, then pulls out his phone to type something in. After a few moments of typing, the tall boy held out his phone.
“Music has, and always will be, very important to me.” Come the voice from Ben's phone. “It has been hard figuring out what music is to me now since my voice is gone, but I felt very inspired when Tyler taught me guitar. It has shown me there are a lot more ways to interact with music than I thought.”
“Hey,” Tyler says from beside Ben, placing a firm hand on the boy on the shoulder. “Anytime, dude.” Ashlyn thinks Tyler might even be harboring the smallest of smiles on his face.
Ben pats Tyler's hand appreciatively, and reaches for the middle. Once he grabs his card, he punches it into his phone. “Taylor. ‘What is a difficult obstacle you've overcome this year?’”
The brunette girl instinctively laughs. “It's been such a relaxing year. I'm struggling to think of anything...”
“Want a different one?” Ben asks her with a gentle smile.
“Hah, no. That's okay.” She says in good nature. “Uh, yeah—it's obvious, but almost losing Tyler was really…uh, really hard.” Taylor's expression becomes something more drawn and pensive. “Things at home have been pretty, ah…heavy too—I guess.” The girl glances at her twin, as if seeking out his judgement for what and how much to reveal. “Uh, yeah.” She settles, taking some of the table cloth between her fingers and rubbing it together. “But, even though things have been really hard, I'm…I'm so grateful for you guys. I know the circumstances that brought us together are…pretty grim to say the least, but I wouldn't trade my friendship with any of you for anything.” Taylor makes a quick swipe at her eyes. “Ah, sorry—” She says dismissively, quickly going to draw the next card.
“Nah, don't apologize, Tay.” Aiden says. “I…I know I feel the same.”
“Me too.” Logan adds. A wholehearted nod comes from Ben too.
Ashlyn swallows. She loves her friends, really. Despite the chaos, and noise, and stress they bring into her life, she would never want to go back to the way her life was before. Her parents were right, she realizes begrudgingly.
But was all this worth it? Would she willingly choose to be tortured each and every night in the Phantom Dimension just for their friendship? Would she give up everything just for this?
In all honesty, she isn't sure—and now is not the time she wishes to dwell on it.
After briefly scanning the question on her card, Taylor snorts in amusement. “‘What is your favorite thing about your career?’” She reads aloud to the table. “Logan, I think you're the only one of us currently working a real job—unless you count Tyler's brief stint at Waffle Home.” She teasingly elbows her brother.
“—Woah, holy lore drop!” Aiden hollers with excitement causing Ashlyn to wince from his volume. “Oop—sorry.” Aiden whispers.
Tyler crosses his arms. “My favorite part about working at Waffle Home was quitting.”
“I definitely miss your employee discounts though.” Taylor adds with a wistful look. “Logan, do you have anything you like about working at your grandparents’ flower shop?” She asks the boy beside her, taking another sip of her drink.
“Hmm,” Logan scratches his chin, staring down at the table cloth. “I like the routine of it. The structure is very grounding. Peaceful, even.” He says.
Ashlyn steals a quick glance at her phone screen.
5:43pm. Good signal. No notifications.
The girl scowls. Ashlyn is a rational girl—slow to worry; calm under pressure. It is normal for text messages to go unread, in fact, there are a million reasonable explanations for such that raise no cause for concern.
Ashlyn still hasn't gotten a message back from her parents—neither of them.
She feels Tyler's eyes weighing heavily on her frame; they are expectant, impatient. Everything in her wants to be the voice of reason; to counterbalance the overbearing duty and worry that billow off him like smoke. She doesn't want to admit he is right; to throw him a bone—but she can't deny the concern in her own heart. Her parents are attentive to their phones, especially when she is away from home.
“Aiden.” Logan says. “‘What is something you are striving to achieve in the upcoming years?’”
Ashlyn looks up. She is…curious, to say the least, about how Aiden will answer this question. Ashlyn could make a good guess about how the others might answer such a question. Obviously the major achievement each of the six teenagers are striving for is survival. But outside of their fateful dance with the Phantom Dimension all of them still have lives, passions, and desires. Taylor and Tyler’s answers would be grounded in future schooling and career opportunities; Logan would likely mention delving into a new field of study or charting a new astronomical plane. Ben's answer would no doubt have something to do with rediscovering and redefining his passions—whether it'd be art, music, or writing.
…And then, there is Aiden. No matter how Ashlyn racks her brain, she can't seem to envision how he will answer.
Aiden all but forgets his food, looking something akin to a deer in the headlights. “Oh. Uh—” He rubs the back of his neck. “I guess I haven't thought all that much about that.” He admits sheepishly.
Oh, but he has.
There is a beat of silence. Followed by another.
Aiden has thought about almost nothing but this—about excitement, contentment, goals, achievement. Especially here, basking in all the glory of his parents’ achievement, it is impossible to avoid the question. Daniel and Jessica Clark are driven people—they are always looking forward, always pushing to new heights; always achieving, always succeeding.
But he isn't like them. He realized it long ago—and though he has tried everything to please his parents and be the son they desire, he isn't like them.
He can't seem to think forward; past the present moment. He doesn't have goals, or dreams, or ambitions.
It's how he copes.
The future is never a guarantee; and such a truth does not scare him—no, it is a comfort. A chill runs down his spine. All five sets of eyes at the table are locked on him, waiting for his answer
But how is he supposed to say all that?
“Ah.” Aiden lets out a short stab of laughter. “This is awkward, huh?”
Guilt begins to eat at Logan's expression, “I-I can pull a different card if you want—”
“—Good evening, ladies; gentlemen; esteemed friends.” Daniel Clark’s striking voice reverberates with pleasure and pride as he surveys the packed banquet hall. The crowd noise slowly starts to dwindle, ‘shh!’ one woman hisses loudly a few tables down; all eyes turn to the stage. Aiden's shoulders ease; he breathes a sigh of relief.
“What a tremendous pleasure it is to have all of you with us here tonight.” He says with a charming smile. “I sincerely believe I am the luckiest man on earth—can you imagine getting paid to travel around the world to meet with the very finest of individuals? Because that is just what I get to do—and it means everything to see so many of you sitting here tonight.”
“A few of you know, my drop dead gorgeous wife, Jessica; my handsome and studious son, Aiden; and yours truly recently moved to the very small and tiny town of Alto, Georgia. It has been greatly humbling—”
Ashlyn rolls her eyes.
“—but has served to make me even more grateful for all the memories we have shared together—and shared with the world through the magazine. And it makes me even more excited for all that we will share together in the future.” Daniel pauses briefly, allowing for many rounds of enthusiastic applause to fill the void. His smile widens with delight, pearly white teeth practically glistening beneath the spotlight.
As nonchalantly as possible, Ashlyn moves to cover her ears. The volume isn't as horrific as it could be—but it does sting, and it is beyond frustrating to not be able to control it.
She can see where Aiden gets his showmanship and composure. He seems so much like his father in appearance and presentation, while also so incredibly different on a deeper level she isn't sure if she understands yet.
Finally, Daniel waves off the applause, as he prepares to speak once more. “We have a wonderful evening planned. Once you are done eating, we would like to invite you into the ballroom for a bit of dancing. Around eight o'clock, we will hand out some awards and give credit where credit is due; and once that is over, we will toast to our past success and celebrate the bright future. Thank you—all of you.” Daniel says, basking for a few extra moments on the stage to soak up the attention and admiration of his adoring crowd. Ashlyn goes back to covering her ears.
Once the applause begins to, once more, fade into faint chattering, Ashlyn checks her phone one last time.
Her heart sinks.
Nothing. Her parents still haven't responded.
This is either something as insignificant and stupid as her parents going out to dinner and forgetting their phones—or the worst case scenario. There is no in-between. And as much as it kills her to agree with Tyler—especially when he is being overly cautious—he is right. They should go back.
She doesn't let herself think about what the worst case scenario could entail—only that it is possible. She doesn't let herself think like that—it does no good. But as a leader, she needs to accept the worst is possible—and to mitigate damage, she needs to act now.
“—I’m going to get another one of those pink-drink-thingies,” Taylor says, pushing up from the table. “Be right back!” She says over her shoulder. The girl hikes up the front of her dress and jogs away. Ashlyn exhales with fond amusement; ‘only Taylor,’ she thinks.
“Ashlyn—” Aiden pokes her shoulder. “Wanna dance with me?” He cocks his head and grins.
Ashlyn sighs. She knows Aiden will be disappointed if they have to leave—she might as well give him this, and then break the news.
“Yup.” She says to Aiden's complete and utter shock. “But I have to talk with Tyler first.”
Ashlyn is pretty sure Aiden high-fives Ben once she steps to the side with Tyler.
“What did your parents say?” The teenager fiddles with the cuff of his suit, doing his best to dawn a mask of impatience and indifference—but his mask is cracking, and Ashlyn can see between the fissures to the concern and fear hiding behind it.
“They…” Ashlyn presses her tongue into her cheek as she measures her next words carefully. Bite the bullet. “...aren't responding.” She looks anywhere but his face—she can only imagine the surplus of unfiltered emotions that she'll find there. “I think we should find a way back to Alto.”
To her pleasant surprise, Tyler says nothing. And when she finally does look up to see his expression, he is calm and stoic. “I'm going to find our limo driver.” He tells her. “Maybe he'll be willing to take us back early. If not, we'll find another way.”
Ashlyn nods. “I'll break the news to the others.”
“...Thanks.”
There is something in his face that Ashlyn can't decipher—something much softer, more tender, than she is used to seeing from him. It's an openness she has only ever seen him offer to Taylor.
This is new, she realizes—this alliance shared between them. Usually, her and Tyler are at each other's throats, clashing on all issues big and small; so rarely do they both rally behind the same cause. This is new, but…Ashlyn likes it. She hopes this stays.
“I—” Tyler hesitates, suddenly looking away. “...yeah, thanks.” He turns away, heading for the edge of the room. She watches him go until he has disappeared into a sea of suits, dresses, and jewelry.
To the ballroom.
The energy in the ballroom is palpable; countless bodies bob and sway, gliding together as if riding upon the wave of a watery current to the orchestra’s strings. The room has been lit thoughtfully, leaving only that which is necessary to see the face across from one's own.
And just as there are in the depths of the ocean, in the ballroom there are predators and prey.
“—Dip on three!” Aiden grins manically, whirling Logan around on his heels. The other teen’s eyes go as wide as saucers from behind his glasses.
“—Aiden—”
“One!”
“—please—”
“Two!” Aiden laughs.
“—do not—”
“Three!” Aiden shifts his grip on Logan, sending the other boy plummeting to the ground, securingly catching him before his head hits the polished oak wood floor. Aiden peers down at Logan, who is significantly paler now than he was before they started dancing.
“Wasn't that fun?” The bleach blonde boy smiles.
“Aiden.” A low, familiar female voice calls out from the side. Aiden looks over to see Ashlyn waiting just outside the dancing area. “Oh, hey, Ash! Ready to dance?”
“Sure.”
“Oh, thank God.” Logan signs a breath of relief as Aiden releases him from his grip.
Ashlyn trades spots with Logan, giving the boy a sympathetic look. She takes Aiden's hand and the two walk to the floor. “Hey, I have to tell you something.” Ashlyn says quietly. Aiden does his best not to trip over his dress shoes.
“...Oh?”
As if seeing into his most personal thoughts, Ashlyn frowns and smacks his arm. Then, she more gently places her hand on his shoulder as the two begin to waltz.
“It's not good news.”
“Oh.” Aiden’s smile wavers slightly, a pang of anxiety striking in his core. “Spin.” He warns before raising his hand above her head. Though she looks slightly annoyed by his spontaneous shotcall, Ashlyn handles the spin with infinitely more grace than Logan had. One of her braids flicks him in the face as she twirls—but it is worth it, because she laughs.
“Serves you right.” The girl says once she is facing him again, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips. He feels a bit like his heart might explode. It's a familiar feeling, something akin to adrenaline yet so intrinsically different. This is better. It is exciting and exhilarating, but yet…kinder—kinder to himself, and kinder to others.
And Aiden realizes that this is all he wants, and is perhaps all he has ever wanted: to make the people he cares about most smile.
‘It is worth it,’ he thinks. It is worth it for this.
He wonders if he is making a weird face, because Ashlyn tilts her head at him in a confused fondness—at least, what he hopes is fondness
“—The bad news?” He asks suddenly. “You, uh, said you had bad news.”
“Oh. Right.” She swallows. “I think we need to head back to Alto early. Tyler can't get ahold of his mom, and I can tell he is worried. And I…I couldn't get a hold of my parents either.” She admits, voice wavering. Aiden and Ashlyn continue in perfect step with the music. “Especially now that we know they have been seeing phantoms too, I-I want to make sure everything is okay.” She doesn't meet his eyes and a part of him is glad. He does his best to muster a brave face.
“I understand—and I think you're right.” He says quietly. “Do you need me to ask our limo driver if he can take you guys back to Alto?”
“Tyler went to find him.” Ashlyn says. “—You’re not upset?” She asks him, eyebrow raised slightly and concern still lingering in her eyes.
Of course Aiden is disappointed—but not upset, never upset with Ashlyn.
“No, I understand.” He says. “If something happened to your parents, well…much better safe than sorry.”
“Never thought I'd hear you say that.” The girl says dryly, but there is no real bite to her voice. Ashlyn sighs softly. “But thank you for understanding. I know tonight was important to you.” Ashlyn's hand tightens where it is already stationed on his shoulder. “You can come with us if you want to.”
Aiden shakes his head. “I have to stay. My parents would flip their lid if I jumped ship, hah.” He plasters a strained smile on his face. “Go on without me, Ash. Tell my story!” He leans back dramatically and throws his arm across his forehead. Suddenly, he pops back up.
“Dip!” He grins, tipping her back.
“—Aiden!”
“—Oops, sorry Ben,” Taylor's cheeks flush a faint pink as she laughs; she has stepped on Ben's toes more times than he bothers to count—holding on to his shoulder and hand a bit tighter with each stumble. His cheeks hurt from grinning so much, but he can't help it. He noiselessly laughs with her.
Taylor's company is always welcome; there is a lightness to her that Ben knows this group so desperately needs. Ben isn't sure if the others notice her tactful relational management; how she balances all of their diverse and clashing personalities, uniting them. There is a lightness to Taylor, but not because she carries no burdens; no, far from it. In a way, she carries all of their burdens. If someone is hurt or upset, Taylor will always be nearby, a sentinel at their side. There is a lightness to Taylor, because she lives with open hands, offering up all she is and keeping nothing for herself.
Ben wishes he could have seen ahead all those years ago to moments like these. He forgets the mocking and the bruises; he forgets raw, bleeding knuckles and sore throats; he forgets the phantoms and their haunting smile.
Ben's eyes catch Logan as he slinks away, finally free from Aiden's grasp; Taylor follows his line of sight. Ben keeps one hand steady on Taylor's back, and pulls out his phone with the other. ‘wanna rattle his cage a little bit?’ Ben types to her; Taylor laughs—the two of them share a devious look.
“Hey Logan!” Taylor calls out. Ben waves to Logan. The dirty blonde scrunches his nose before sheepishly waving back. Ben signals for the other boy to join the two of them. Logan looks wary and skeptical, but approaches anyway.
“...Everything okay?” He asks once he arrives. Ben nods.
“You should dance with us!” Taylor smiles, offering out one of her hands. Logan eyes the two of them suspiciously.
“...Pretty sure dancing is a two person activity.” He skeptically observes.
“Pssh.” Taylor flouts. “Only if you have no imagination.” Ben points to Taylor, nodding in affirmation. Then, the tall boy once more pulls out his phone, quickly clicking Logan's contact.
Logan feels his own phone buzz in his back pocket. He looks at Ben with squinted eyes before checking his notifications.
Ben: Don’t worry.
Ben: We’ll play nice :)
Logan can't help but chuckle as he looks back up at their expectant faces; Taylor's hand is still outstretched.
“You won't take no for an answer, will you?” The doomed boy mutters. Taylor cheers, taking this as a victory as she snatches his hand.
The three of them retreat to a less occupied corner of the ballroom, allowing for more space (and less attention, Logan desperately hopes). “—Okay, so Ben, you step here; then I'll spin, and—” Taylor begins to chart out their coordinated dance through trial and error; and a lot of laughter and bruised toes.
“...Wait, have you guys never done a kick line?”
Logan and Ben share an oblivious look. “I don't think so…?” Logan says.
“No way.” Taylor gasps. “Wait, here, I'll show you.” The brunette girl jumps into action, positioning herself between the two boys and putting her arms over their shoulders. “Okay, so we line up like this, and then in unison, all three of us are going to rear our knees up, then kick left. Then right.” She says. “Ready, and—”
It should not come as a surprise that they all end up in a pile of sweat, bruises, and laughter on the floor.
Back to the oak wood, Ben wipes at his eyes, damp from laughter. Logan and Taylor are laughing too; he can feel it shaking the ground. He is sure they are getting a lot of odd and disapproving looks as they all lay laughing on the floor in the finest of attire. He doesn't care.
He hopes he never forgets this moment.
“Taylor—” Logan breathes out, trying to hold back another spell of laughter from where he lays next to Ben on the ballroom floor. “—That drink you kept going back for earlier—the one in the little red cup—do you know what was in it?”
“Nope!” She pops her lips before divulging into another laughing fit. Ben follows Logan's train of thought and tilts his head to look over at the boy with glasses. The two of them share an amused, knowing glance.
“Tay,” Logan reaches out to pat the girl in question's hand. The boy purses his lips to try and keep a fond smile from splitting across his face. He fails. “I think you might be hammered.”
After Ashlyn gets adequate revenge for the unsolicited dip—the two teens step off of the dance floor to look for Tyler. Keen eyes scan the crowds, but Tyler's black leather suit coat and irritable attitude are nowhere to be seen. It doesn’t take long for Aiden to get that restless itch. “Maybe half-wit is still in the dining hall? I don't mind checking.” Aiden offers. He just wants to do something other than standing around and looking.
“Good thought.” Ashlyn confirms. “I'll keep looking for him in here. Text me if you find him.”
“Aye-aye, mi capitán,” Aiden salutes, spinning on his heels as he bids farewell.
Ashlyn roves the perimeter of the large, domed room, ever peering inwards. It's dark—and even though she is familiar enough with Tyler to spot him a mile away, she isn't confident she'll be able to find him here. The room is loud too—not in the way that a fateful and unexpected gunshot is loud; rather, it is as if the countless private conversations of the gala’s patrons are all directed at her, whispering in her ear and demanding her attention. It's frustrating, and so endlessly overwhelming.
She practically collapses with relief when she finally spots a familiar face—or, to be more precise, three familiar faces.
Logan spots Ashlyn first, pointing her out to Ben and Taylor while she is still a distance away. Taylor is between the two of them, arms draped around Ben and Logan's shoulders respectively. Ashlyn locks eyes with the brunette and watches blissful recognition dawn on her face. “Wooo, Ashlyn!” She gleefully belts out, very nearly tumbling over her own feet and taking down Ben and Logan with her. Luckily, Ben reaches out to catch her—offering Ashlyn a bashful wave.
Ashlyn approaches the three stooges, eyeing them skeptically. Taylor reaches out to boop Ashlyn's nose. “Hey, pookie.” Taylor slurs out with a giggle; the Hispanic teen’s face is flushed and her eyes are unfocused.
Ashlyn blinks, rendered in a stupified silence. After a few moments, she looks to Ben and Logan for an explanation. The taller boy shrugs. She looks at Logan. “Explain.”
“Uh,” The boy with glasses nervously rubs at the back of his neck with the hand not supporting Taylor. “...working theory is that the little drinks in the red glasses at the banquet were maybe-kind-of alcoholic.” He says quickly.
Ashlyn closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “...She's wasted.” The girl says matter-of-fact.
“It is looking that way, yes.”
“Drunk with love for you, bro—” Taylor laughs, cut off by a hiccup. Ben softly pats her back.
“—We were going to sit down and get something to drink.” Logan informs Ashlyn. “—Water, that is. Hopefully it will flush whatever she drank out of her system.”
“That seems like the best course of action.” Ashlyn sighs. “I’m looking for Tyler—we might need to head back to Alto a bit early.”
“—no, I haven't seen—
“—Tyler?” Any giddiness on Taylor's face has melted away, leaving worry and dread in its wake. “Is Tyler okay?”
Ashlyn quickly clocks the shift in the twin’s demeanor. “Yes, he is fine.” Ashlyn assures Taylor. “He just went to find the limousine driver a few minutes ago.” The faintest bit of relief washes over Taylor's face. “I'll make sure to bring him over to you when I find him.
‘Not that I necessarily want to be caught in the crossfire when he realizes we accidentally let Taylor get sloshed with alcohol,’ she thinks to herself.
“Okay.” Taylor says in a small voice.
Ben points out to the hallway—Ashlyn interprets that to be his way of telling her where the three of them are headed. Ashlyn gives them a thumbs up. They head in different directions.
“Excuse me,” She mumbles, angling around a couple talking on the outskirts of the dance floor. There's no way that Tyler would be dancing right now—she reckons that, if he isn't still in the banquet hall, he is swimming in the same sea of idle and onlooking guests that she is.
—And just as there are in the depths of the ocean, in the ballroom there are predators and prey.
“Ashlyn Banner.”
A cool tendril of winter air licks against the back of her neck; she didn't remember there being any open doors in the ballroom. She turns.
He is tall and slender, mid-length jet-black hair slicked back, curling out from his neck. Even in the dark room, his grey eyes are piercing and sharp; his crooked grin is slight, but no less self-assured. The man stands a few feet away, arms crossed behind his back; long, dark suit coat lapping around his calves.
She has never met him before—she is almost certain of it; and yet, something about the man is so unmistakably familiar.
“Who…who are you?” She whispers.
“I'll tell you everything you want to know.” Then, he holds out his hand. “May I have this dance?” His lopsided grin cuts deeper into his cheeks—it’s a familiar smile; she has seen it before, she knows it.
“Um…” Ashlyn swallows, heart beating quickly in her chest. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong, and her body is screaming as much at her. She needs to go. “Sorry, I am looking for my frie—”
“—If you want to see your friend again,” The tall, slender man interrupts as if her words mean nothing at all; as if she were merely a minnow in an ocean full of sharks. “...I’d advise you to dance with me.”