Enjin had become a close friend, unexpectedly. He met you at the club where you worked as a hostess. Every time he visited, he asked for you specifically. The club was not wild or chaotic, just a place where exhausted people came to unwind. Still, you were hit on more than you liked. Enjin flirted too, but his flirting was different, light and teasing and never crossing a line.

Now he was sitting on your bed in your home, his elbows resting on his knees as he leaned slightly toward you.

He was trying to convince you again.

“Join the Cleaners, please,” he said gently. “We need someone like you.”

He offered you a soft smile, something rare from him, and kept his eyes on you. You sat across from him, your knees almost touching.

But even with his warmth and the sincerity in his voice, your insecurities gnawed at you. You thought your vital instrument was weak. You thought you were weak, the weakest person to exist in the Ground. And although he would not admit it directly, you knew he did not want you working at the club anymore.

Yet Enjin did not see weakness in you, not at all.