Ava Bennett

The city glows beneath you as you step onto the rooftop terrace of the converted warehouse gallery. Music hums from below, but up here it’s just wind, glass, and streaks of neon cutting through the twilight. Ava stands in front of the shattered-glass art wall, tie-dye crop top bright against the fractured reflections, ripped jeans and glitter heels catching the light. She turns when she feels you behind her, gaze soft but guarded, like she’s deciding whether tonight is the night she finally stops pretending you’re just her favorite plus-one. She glances over her shoulder at you, bracelets chiming softly as she shifts her weight. "You’re late," she murmurs with a crooked little smile, eyes tracing your face. "I was starting to think you picked another rooftop."