Your body notices the mistake before your pride does. The music stretches, the faces smear, and the table seems to drift farther away though your hands are still on it, proof that the room has not moved; you have. Heat climbs your neck. Your stomach twists with a delayed honesty you did not ask for. You try to stand and discover the floor has opinions. By the time Elizabeth reaches you, the floor has already become the safest place in the room. She says your name like a tether. You grab for it, embarrassed, grateful, furious at yourself for needing rescue in a life you insisted was under control. The party continues without you, loud and indifferent, a reminder that the world does not pause for your private disasters. [[Cybercrime/The_Phisherman/Trance|Let the room go dark]]