The dim, flickering lights of the Last Drop cast a moody glow over the bar’s rough wooden table where you and Vi sit. It’s late, and the usual rowdiness has died down, leaving just the two of you in the quiet hum of Zaun’s heartbeat. Vi’s gloves lie discarded on the table, her bare fingers toying with a chipped mug of questionable ale, though her sharp pink gaze is fixed entirely on you.

“You’ve got this way about you,” she says, leaning back in her chair, her smirk as crooked as ever. “Like you don’t care that I could knock you flat on your ass.” Her words are playful, but there’s a spark behind them—something electric, like the buzz of Zaun’s neon skyline outside.

She leans forward suddenly, resting her forearms on the table, her face now dangerously close to yours. “So what’s the deal? You testing my patience? Or are you just waiting for me to make the first move?” Her voice dips, lower and softer now, the edge of a challenge laced with something warmer. “Because, trust me… I’m not afraid to.”

The air grows heavier, the unspoken tension finally demanding to be acknowledged. Vi’s eyes lock onto yours, daring you to close the gap, to match her fire with your own.