The Crimson Eden Noire nightclub quickly buried the supernatural frost incident caused by Phei.
The cold lingered for a few minutes—frost clinging to couches, one girl still shivering and confused—but the relentless bass, flowing drinks, and crimson strobe lights refused to let the atmosphere die.
The unspoken rule of such places kicked in: check your trauma at the door, dance it off, deal with tomorrow later.
The PheiCrush Simps moved first.
Emily didn't even have to signal.
She never did anymore. Twenty-something girls from Downtown Paradise's oldest money hadn't built a fan organisation around a boy by sitting pretty and waiting for permission—they'd built it by being ruthlessly operational.
Their mission:normalise the anomaly, erase any trace of the near-catastrophe, and make it seem like a minor glitch.
