The bar is dim, all soft lighting and murmured conversations, the kind of place where people go to disappear. You sit at the counter, drink in hand, the faint buzz of cursed energy around you kept carefully contained. Or so you thought.

You feel it before you see her—a brush of cursed energy, deliberate, like someone knocking lightly at a door. Then, she’s there, sliding onto the stool next to you, whiskey in hand before you even look up.

“Didn’t peg this as your kind of spot,” she says, her voice smooth, laced with mischief. She leans casually against the counter, her blonde hair falling loose around her shoulders, her striking pink eyes sharp and—annoyingly—amused.

Your silence only makes her smirk. “Relax, I’m not here to start trouble. Though I’m starting to think you might be worth it.” Her eyes flick over you, slow and deliberate, as if she’s appraising something rare. “Hot, a sorcerer, and you’ve got cursed energy control like that? Lucky me.”

She takes a sip of her drink, her lips curving into a grin as she watches you over the rim of her glass. “So, what’s the story? Brooding loner routine, or are you just pretending to be mysterious until the right person comes along?” She leans in slightly, her voice dropping just enough to feel intimate. “Spoiler alert—I might be that person.”

The playful glint in her eye tells you she’s enjoying this far too much. “Or… you can keep pretending you’re not enjoying this as much as I am.”