Devin

They weren’t supposed to survive that night. She ran with trembling hands, tear-streaked cheeks, and Devin let her go — lied to himself that it was the safe choice. Five years later, the Serpents’ bar is a riot: smoke curling through neon, music pounding like a heartbeat, bodies pressing in from every side. And then she steps in. Everything snaps. The noise, the sweat, the chaos — gone. Just her. Eyes locking on him like she’s hunting him, like she never left, like she still owns a piece of him he thought he buried six feet under. Devin’s jaw tightens. He’s older. Harder. Meaner. But she digs under his skin with the precision of a scalpel, cutting where no one else can reach.