On top of being a loud, flashing void of bodies, it was also stiflingly hot. All she could smell was sweating bodies, cheap beer, and that skunk smell of fog-haze-pot in the air.

Ruby forced them forward, closer to the stage to see Man’s Ruin emerge from the green room.

The members filed out. Without even introducing themselves, they struck up into a song immediately. It was exactly the kind of overwrought, screechy rock that Thorne played in his house.

There she was, dead center. Marcia Reuben. As soon as Ruby locked on her, Marcia looked back. Their eyes met.

“Can we corner her after?” Gabe asked, trying to crane his neck to find Marcia’s face above the crowd. His voice was already becoming hoarse from shouting. It gave him a slightly gravelly tone. ”It’s going to be a disaster if we try to pull her off stage.”

She shook her head. Then she pointed at her eyes, then at Marcia. The musician had already spotted her. There was a flicker of recognition that went both ways. It would not be that easy.

Moving around the crowd was like trying to swim through tar. With every step she took, her boots met disgusting, sticky resistance.

Marcia shrieked something unintelligible into the microphone before launching herself into the crowd. Dozens of hands reached up to catch her.

On stage, the bassist and the drummer continued the noise. The whole crowd was like a writhing mass.

They deposited Marcia back on the stage, where she returned to her microphone, pushing her sweaty hair out of her face.

“It looks like we have some feds in the audience tonight,” Marcia announced breathily into the mic. She turned in Ruby and Gabe's direction, flashing a pair of raised middle fingers. A spotlight swiveled, following Marcia's gaze until it landed on them, sticking out in the crowd of leather and band t-shirts.

A can flew overhead, showering them in a spray of beer.

“This isn't good,” Gabe said next to her.

“No kidding,” Ruby replied. She was acutely aware of how her size put her at a disadvantage in the crowd.

The crowd was turning on them.

Marcia ran her hands through her hair and leaned into the mic.

“Y'all got the FBI here. You know what to do,” she said. “Get 'em.”

Ruby and Gabe weren't just unpopular–they were marked. The drunken, rowdy crowd had practically developed a hive mind. This was their turf, a bubble of the universe where there were no consequences.

That's when she realized that they weren't going to get out of this one easily.