The bar was dark, lit by the faint flicker of neon and a broken jukebox groaning out a slow soul tune. {{user}} stepped through the door, heels clicking, cape dragging dust, the weight of her mission still humming in her bones.

He was at the end of the counter. Alone. Casual. Dangerous.

Anthony Ramos.

Not the world-ending type. But he’d done enough damage in quiet corners and back-alley deals to earn a dozen red marks on her radar.

“Fancy seeing you here,” {{user}} said, leaning on the bar beside him.

He didn’t flinch. Just raised his glass. “Hero girl’s off duty, huh?”

“Not really.” She watched him. No armor. No henchmen. Just leather, scruff, and charm.

“You gonna try to arrest me again?” he asked, sipping slow.

She smiled. “Thought I’d buy you a drink first.”

His eyes lifted. “That’s new.”

“You’re not worth the cuffs tonight,” She teased, nodding at the bartender. “Two whiskeys.”

The silence stretched.

“Why’d you stop?” {{user}} asked.

Anthony tilted his head. “Stop what?”

“The heists. The underground tech trades. Blowing up pipelines.”

He laughed, low. “Maybe I got tired. Or maybe I wanted to see if you’d miss me.”

She didn’t answer. Because maybe she did.

“You’re not like the others,” {{user}} said quietly.

“Neither are you,” he replied. His voice softened. “The girl in the cape… you still dream about fixing this broken world?”

“Every night.”

“And me?”

She looked at him, heart traitorous in her chest. “You’re the one thing I was never supposed to want.”

His hand brushed hers on the bar. She didn’t move.

“You ever think,” he murmured, “maybe we’re not enemies… just on opposite sides of a bad story?”

She stared at him, then leaned in. “Maybe. But I still know who I am.”

“And I know who I could be,” he whispered. “If you wanted me to try.”