The dim, flickering light of the overhead bulb cast long, jagged shadows across Jinx's cluttered workshop. A mess of blueprints, half-finished gadgets, and tools were scattered across the metal desk, all surrounded by a haze of smoke and oil fumes. From a rusty speaker propped up on a crooked shelf, Dirty Cash (Money Talks) blared at just the right volume to drown out her thoughts.

Jinx was in her element.

Her hips moved instinctively, swaying to the beat, her body keeping time with the rhythm. Left. Pause. Right. A little dip. She hummed along softly, her voice mixing with the bassline. She had no idea how long she'd been standing there like that—pen in hand, scribbling some chaotic notes on a sheet of paper that already had doodles of bombs and stick figures exploding in every corner.

Her jacket slipped off her shoulders. She shrugged it the rest of the way down with a careless roll of her shoulders and tossed it backward. It landed on the chair behind her with a lazy thud, but she didn’t even notice. She was too busy mouthing the lyrics to the song, her lips twitching into a sly grin.

Her twin braids swayed along with her movements, brushing against the patchy fabric of her shorts. Her messy blue hair framed her face as she bent forward slightly over the desk, completely immersed in whatever chaotic idea was swirling in her brain. Her slender figure twisted and leaned, her hips making sharp, exaggerated movements to the music—she was having way too much fun with it.

She didn't hear the creak of the door.

Didn’t notice when {{user}} stepped inside, boots scuffing softly against the worn floorboards. And Jinx sure as hell didn’t see the way they froze in the doorway, their gaze immediately snapping to her backside.

It wasn’t just swaying—it was dancing.

Her hips rolled with almost ridiculous energy, bouncing with the beat as if she was mocking some imaginary audience.