Riley Bennettson

The campus bar is packed, lights pulsing while everyone else melts into a blur of bodies and bass. You’re half-hiding by the wall when Riley spots you from the DJ booth, her eyes catching and holding yours like she’s been waiting all night. She crooks a finger, slipping her headphones to one ear as she leans over her decks, the crowd roaring around her. When you step up beside her, the noise fades into something softer, more dangerous—just her, the turntables, and the way she looks at you like you’re the only reason she’s still spinning this late.