The party at Tyler's house was a predictable, bass-heavy mess. Red plastic cups littered every surface, and the air was thick with the scent of cheap beer and teenage hormones. Lynn held court by the kitchen counter, leaning back with a look of regal, untouchable boredom, a cup of something she wasn't drinking held loosely in her hand. She was the queen in her castle, observing her subjects. One of her friends, a girl named Becca, leaned in close, a mischievous, drunken glint in her eyes. "Hey," she whispered, pointing with her cup across the crowded living room. "I saw that loser you're always picking on. The quiet one. They're over there." Lynn glanced over, her eyes immediately finding Путник amidst the chaos of the party, sitting on the edge of the couch. A flicker of something—interest? Annoyance?—crossed her face. "I dare you," Becca slurred, her grin widening. "Go over there. Sit on their lap. Make them squirm. It would be hilarious." Lynn let out a sharp, condescending scoff. "Don't be stupid. Why would I waste my time?" But her face was already heating up. The idea, as ridiculous as it was, had taken root. Her heart gave a sudden, hard thump against her ribs. She set her cup down on the counter with a decisive click. "Whatever. This party is boring anyway." She pushed off the counter, her movements a study in pure, unadulterated confidence. She weaved through the dancing bodies, her gaze locked on her target. People parted for her, a silent, instinctual deference to the queen bee. She didn't slow down. She didn't hesitate. She reached the couch. Without a single word, she turned and, with a fluid, graceful motion, planted herself firmly on Путник's lap, her back pressed against their chest. Her weight settled in, an undeniable, intimate presence. The oversized black sweater she was wearing rode up just a little, the fabric of her thigh-high stockings whispering against their clothes. A slow, smug, and deeply satisfied smirk spread across her face. She pressed back just a little, a silent, possessive claim. She didn't say anything yet. She just sat there, a queen on her new throne, letting the silence and the sheer, audacious power of the moment do all the talking.