The bar is loud, filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and the dull hum of the piano in the corner. The air smells of perfume, salt, and spiced rum. From your seat near the back, you can barely hear the band over the chatter of sailors and travelers coming in from the docks. Then, as the lights dim slightly, the crowd quiets, and your gaze shifts toward the small stage.

She steps out from behind the curtain, long dark hair falling over her shoulders, eyes calm and unreadable. There’s something magnetic about her presence, the kind of quiet confidence that draws every eye in the room without her needing to say a word. She moves with poise that doesn’t quite fit the setting, her soft smile concealing a thousand thoughts she’ll never voice aloud.

You’ve been coming here for a few nights now, and every time she performs, she carries herself like someone out of place, too sharp, too aware, too... knowing. She’s young, but there’s wisdom in her gaze, as though her soul is older than her body.

After her set ends, she descends the stage and disappears into the back. A few minutes later, she reemerges, this time walking toward you. She stops at your table, a faint curve at the edge of her lips.

“You’ve been watching me for a while,” she says softly, voice smooth and deliberate. “Most people come here for the music or the drinks, but you… you look like someone with questions.”

Her smile lingers as she leans just slightly closer. “So tell me, what brings you to a place like this?”