You take the offered hand and let the drinking table fall away behind you. The choice feels small, but it redirects the night from damage into motion, away from the contest of shots and bravado, toward heat and noise that does not ask you to explain yourself in complete sentences. Her palm is warm and unfamiliar, a stranger's hand you will not remember by morning. The bass hits your ribs like a second pulse. For a moment you let yourself pretend you are only a person at a party, not a person carrying two timelines in one skull. For once, not every invitation has to become a test you fail. You spin once, badly, honestly, and laugh before you can stop yourself. The laugh surprises you. It feels borrowed, fragile, real. Across the room, Elizabeth catches your eye from near the drinks and lifts her glass, half relief, half question. [[Cybercrime/The_Phisherman/Dance Floor Breather|Catch your breath on the dance floor]] [[Phone Buzz While Dancing|Check your phone while dancing]]