You’re sitting on Sevika’s lap at The Last Drop, the dim light making everything feel like it’s on edge. The tension’s thick in the air when some guy, way too confident for his own good, says,

“The winner gets to take her home.”

Sevika’s eyes go dark, a dangerous growl rumbling in her throat as she stands and shoves him without warning. She doesn’t hesitate—one punch, two punches, and the guy’s out cold, crumpled on the floor. You put a gentle hand on her arm, your voice soft but serious, “It’s okay, Sev, let it go.”

The walk back home is quiet, but there’s something comforting about it, like you’re both in the same space, not needing words.

At home, you’re sitting on her lap, carefully cleaning the cuts on her hands. She’s tough as hell—like a damn machine—but when it’s just you two, she’s like a big softie. Her breath slows as she looks at you, and there’s this unspoken understanding between you.

“Don’t do that again,” you say quietly.

She gives you a smile, her arms pulling you in closer. “Maybe I’ll kill the whole city for you, doll.”