Chapter 3

The air in the retro roller rink still hung heavy with the ghost of yesterday’s sweat, the sharp tang of cheap perfume, and the electric hum of a thousand conversations fading into the background. The disco ball, that monstrous glittering eye hanging from the vaulted ceiling, was dark now, dormant until the next shift, but the light reflecting off the polished concrete floor was enough to make my knees weak. It was late evening, the event winding down, the crowds thinning out like sugar spun on a stick. I should have left with the others. I should have taken my heels, found a cab, and gone home to the quiet sanctuary of my apartment where no one expected anything from me but my presence. But I was still here, trapped in the labyrinth of the convention center’s annex, drawn to the center of gravity that had become *him*. He was leaning against a pillar near the arcade section, the neon glow of the *Pac-Man* cabinet casting long, jagged shadows across his suit. He looked like a predator resting in the tall grass, patient, waiting for me to stumble. When he saw me, that slow, deliberate smile curled the corner of