Infinite Cashback: My Wealth Rebate System

The building came into view before the sound did.

Then the sound arrived all at once.

Bass thumped faintly through the walls, spilling out into the street the second someone opened the front door to let a group of latecomers through.

"There she is," Marcus said, practically vibrating with anticipation as they crossed the last stretch of sidewalk. "You can already feel it. This is going to be a good one."

"You say that about every party."

"Because every party is a good one if you approach it correctly."

They climbed the front steps. Marcus was already several beats ahead of him in energy.

They pushed through the door into the noise and heat of Amanda’s apartment. It was properly filled for the first time Jason had seen it.

Bodies packed into the living room. Someone’s playlist thumped through a speaker that was clearly working harder than it was built for. The specific mingled smell of cheap alcohol, someone’s perfume, and whatever had been microwaved and left forgotten on the kitchen counter an hour ago filled the air.

Right.

Jason surveyed the room, cataloguing exits out of pure habit. It was the same instinct that made him lay out chess positions instead of feelings.

In. Seen. Out. Nothing should get complicated about this.

Marcus, meanwhile, had already spotted something worth his attention. His eyes lit up at a cluster of girls near the kitchen island.

He clapped Jason on the shoulder with the enthusiasm of a man about to abandon his post entirely.

"Alright, my guy. I’m gonna go be social. You should come do the same. Loosen up. Find someone to talk to. This is a party, not a stakeout."

"I’m good."

"You’re never good. That’s kind of the whole problem."

Marcus grinned, already backing away toward the kitchen.

"Suit yourself. I’ll check in on you in like twenty minutes to make sure you haven’t turned into furniture."

"Can’t wait."

Marcus disappeared into the crowd with the ease of a man who’d done this a hundred times before.

Jason drifted toward the far corner of the living room, near a bookshelf that had clearly been repurposed to hold red cups instead of books. He settled in to wait out his self-imposed sentence.

He scanned the room without really meaning to. Half looking for Amanda. Half hoping he wouldn’t find her.

Then he caught sight of her briefly across the room.

She was laughing at something. Entirely unaware, or entirely unbothered, that the guy she’d rejected less than twenty-four hours ago was standing thirty feet away pretending to enjoy himself.

She looks fine.

He was mildly surprised at how little the observation actually cost him.

Not even a flicker. Huh.

He leaned back against the bookshelf with his arms crossed. He did his best impression of a man who belonged there and let his eyes drift across the rest of the room without any particular purpose.

It was the way you people-watch at an airport when you have nowhere better to look.

That was when he caught it.

A flash of dark hair near the hallway. Someone standing slightly apart from the main crush of the crowd.

For one disorienting second, his brain insisted it was Sarah.

It’s not her.

He blinked and looked again.

The girl turned enough for him to confirm it. Someone else entirely. Similar hair. Nothing else in common.

Obviously it’s not her. Why would she even be here?

He filed the small, unreasonable jolt of disappointment away somewhere he didn’t want to examine too closely and went back to counting down his twenty minutes.

Still.

He couldn’t quite shake it. The flicker of what if. The way his chest had done something complicated for half a second before logic caught up with it.

Focus. You’re here for one reason. Get seen, get out, worry about Sarah later, when you’re not standing in a room that smells like burnt popcorn and bad decisions.

He was midway through that private pep talk when a voice cut through the noise beside him.

Warm. Familiar. Entirely unexpected in this specific location.

"Well, this is a surprise."

He turned.

There was Vivian, cup in hand and hip cocked slightly against the same bookshelf. She looked at him with the easy, delighted expression of someone who’d just found something genuinely funny.

"You," she said, "at a party. Two surprises in one day. I don’t know if my heart can take it."

"I contain multitudes"

Jason immediately heard the echo of Sarah’s own line from the couch and had to physically stop himself from wincing at the coincidence.

"Clearly."

Vivian’s eyes swept over him once. Unhurried. Cataloguing. The same casual thoroughness she’d shown at the gym that morning.

"Also, you look different from this morning. Less sweaty. More like someone who owns actual clothes."

"I do own actual clothes. It’s a whole collection."

"Bold claim."

She grinned and took a small sip from her cup. Then she settled into the corner beside him with the comfortable ease of someone who’d decided, apparently on the spot, that this was where she was spending the next several minutes.

"So. Gym this morning, party tonight. You’re really testing the limits of how much normal human socializing you can cram into one day."

"Trying something new. Might not stick."

"It better stick. I was starting to think you were some kind of ghost who only manifested in Behavioral Econ once a week."

"That’s an oddly specific theory."

"I have a lot of theories. Most of them are wrong. This one’s probably wrong too."

She tilted her head and studied him again. She had the same open, unguarded curiosity she’d had that morning.

"You don’t look like you’re having a very good time, though. For someone at a party."

Observant.

Jason huffed a short laugh. He was more surprised than annoyed at being read that easily.

"I’m having a fine time."

"You’re standing against a bookshelf like it’s the only structurally sound thing in the room."

"It’s a very reliable bookshelf."

"See, that’s the kind of answer a man gives when he’s counting the minutes until he can leave."

She poked his arm lightly, teasing and entirely unbothered by the fact that she’d basically just called him out.

"Am I wrong?"

"You’re not wrong."

"I’m never wrong. It’s my one real skill."

She grinned wider, clearly pleased with herself, then reached out to flick his shoulder. It was a small, casual gesture that felt oddly natural coming from someone he’d technically only had two real conversations with.

"So why come at all if you’re just gonna stand here doing math on your exit strategy?"

Because a system that rewrote my forearm last night is threatening to reduce my anatomy by half if I don’t.

"Complicated reasons."

"Everything with you is complicated reasons. First the gym, now this."

She shook her head, amused.

"You’re a genuinely mysterious man, Jason. It’s kind of annoying, honestly."

"Sorry to inconvenience your curiosity."

"You should be. I’ve got a whole running list of unanswered questions about you now."

She held up a hand and ticked them off with her fingers. It was the same habit Ben had, though her version came with considerably more teasing behind it.

"Why the sudden gym obsession. Why you’re at a party you clearly don’t want to be at. Why you looked personally offended by cold calls in class for an entire semester before I ever talked to you."

"That last one’s not a mystery. Cold calls are objectively terrible."

"Fair. I’ll allow that one."

She laughed. A real one. Easy and unguarded.

Then she reached out to poke his arm again, apparently just out of habit now rather than to make a point.

"Anyway. I should go find my friends before they assume I’ve been kidnapped. But I expect updates on at least one of these mysteries by Thursday."

"No promises."

"I love a challenge."

She gave him a small, easy wave and turned to leave. Then she disappeared back into the crowd with the same unhurried confidence she carried everywhere.

Jason watched her go. A small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his mouth despite himself.

He had just enough time to think, okay, that was actually a good five minutes, before he registered movement approaching from the opposite direction.

Two familiar faces were cutting through the crowd.

The expressions on their faces made his stomach drop before either of them said a single word.

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