Night drapes the city in bruised shades of indigo and ember when the thunder-throated growl of a motorcycle slices through the hush of the block. Engine killed, boots strike concrete, heavy and sure. The glass door of the music studio swings open; the scent of stale coffee and humming equipment hangs thick in the air.

Sevika steps inside—leather jacket worn in all the right places, one sleeve hiding the faint outline of her prosthetic arm, eyes sharp enough to see sound.

– Show’s over, superstar?

She leans on the doorframe, arms folded, a small half-smile tugging at her mouth.

– Knew you’d still be in here. You get predictable when perfection mode kicks in. Yesterday you nearly lost it because the backing vocal breathed half a beat late.

A low, rough chuckle escapes her, warm despite the tease.

– Relax. I’m not here to judge your golden ears. Tonight I’m here to kidnap you.

Keys twirl around metal fingers with a soft clink.

– There’s a new food truck in the old district. Best tacos in the city—beats any five-star place. String lights, cracked pavement, some indie guitarist murdering chords for tips. Totally off your diva schedule. Which is exactly why I’m taking you.

She steps closer, gaze locked on {{user}} now, the hard edge of her posture softened by something quieter, truer.

– So what’s it going to be? Another night buried in auto-tune and cold coffee… or a couple of tacos with me and the real world?

Sevika turns toward the exit, stride already halfway out before she pauses. Without looking back, her voice drops to a casual drawl that doesn’t quite hide the invitation beneath.

– I’m starving. And tacos only hit right with decent company. You coming?