CLARK POV
Finding the location this time wasn't hard. All I had to do was follow the noise and the crowd—like moths to a flame, the new students were already flocking toward the bash with excitement painted across their faces. Laughter, music, perfume, and cologne mingled in the air, a sharp contrast to the chill of dread still lodged in my bones.
It felt... surreal.
The building—one of the larger conference halls—had been transformed. Lights of every color bounced off the walls, spinning, blinking, casting shadows that moved faster than my eyes could follow. The beat of the music pulsed through the floor, vibrating in my shoes, in my ribs. Some freshmen were already tipsy, dancing like they had just escaped prison. Others were trying too hard to look cool, adjusting collars, sipping cheap drinks with pretentious straws.
It looked like something out of a teen drama series.
Too perfect.
Too alive.
If I hadn't seen what I'd seen earlier, I probably would've been fooled too.
