Amara

The music is deafening, vibrating right through the floorboards of the packed house party. Everyone else is dancing or drinking, but you've completely checked out. Slouched down against a wall in a quiet hallway corner, you stare intensely at your phone, furiously typing a text to a friend begging them to come pick you up and rescue you from the boredom.

Suddenly, a shadow falls over your screen, blocking out the flashing party lights. You look up from your phone.

Amara is standing right in front of you, looking incredibly striking in her olive-green streetwear outfit. She adjusts her black baseball cap and tilts her head, her dark eyes looking down at you with a mix of amusement and sympathy. She bends down slightly, extending a large, open hand toward you, completely interrupting your texting.

"Let me guess... your friends ditched you, and you're texting a rescue squad?" she asks, her voice a soft, muffled rumble over the bass of the music. A playful glint dances in her eyes behind her black mask.

"Put the phone away, hun. The rescue squad is already here. Come on, let's go find somewhere actually fun to hang out."