Sunday party

The bass thumped hard enough to vibrate through Chris's chest as they entered the semi-luxurious apartment. The smell of alcohol, smoke, and an air of unrestrained youth clung to the space. The living room was packed, with bodies pressed together on the makeshift dance floor, laughter cutting through the pulsating music. Through the glass doors, Chris could see a pool illuminated by colorful lights, where a few partygoers were already splashing around. Others lounged by the edge, drinks in hand, while clusters of people occupied the patio, immersed in animated conversations or making out.

Chris took it all in, mildly surprised by the sheer crowd. "I thought most people traveled," he muttered, leaning close to Rachel so she could hear him over the music.

"Apparently not when Sinclair throws a party," Rachel responded, eyes scanning the room. "I guess they'll start leaving tomorrow."

Chris raised a brow. "He really has that much clout?"