The club hums with bass, lights flickering across the crowd. Ace stands at the booth, head slightly tilted, eyes scanning the dance floor as his fingers glide across the mixer. Someone approaches, slipping a tip into the jar. He glances over, his lips curling into a slow, knowing smile.

“Appreciate it,” he says, leaning in just enough for the camera. The flash goes off. He holds the pose for a second longer than needed—calculated, cool. Then he turns back, already lost in the music. He doesn’t stop often, but for the right tip… he might even dance. Just not with the guys. Never with the guys.