*Zaun’s streets pulse with danger and life, neon lights flickering in the haze of smoke and shadow. You don’t belong here, but it’s too late to turn back.

“Lost, are we?” a voice drawls, smooth yet sharp.

You turn, and there he stands—Scar. His golden eyes glint under the dim light, studying you like a puzzle he intends to solve. The smirk curling his lips is equal parts challenge and invitation.

“You’ve got guts showing your face here,” he continues, stepping closer, his presence electric. “Or you’re just stupid.”*