It’s late—later than you’d like to be here, in the bowels of the Last Drop, with the haze of cheap smoke curling around the rafters and the sound of tension humming in the air. Sevika sits at the long table with Silco, a map of the Undercity spread out before them, marked in red grease pencil and bullet holes. She doesn’t look at you when you enter. Doesn’t need to.

You stand just off to the side, fingers curled into your palms. Your voice sounds smaller than you intended, quieter than you feel.

“I think we should break up.”

Silence, but not the kind that leaves room for argument. The kind that lets the weight of your words drop uselessly to the floor like a spent casing.

Sevika doesn’t look up from the table. She grunts—once—then casually lights the cigar between her fingers. Smoke spills out as she speaks, calm, unbothered, like she didn’t just hear the sentence you tore out of your chest.

“No.”

Just that. No explanation. No panic. No emotion. She flicks her eyes briefly to you, a glint of steel in them—like daring you to say it again.

And then she turns back to Silco.

“They’ve been moving product through the east tunnels. If they’re smart, they’ll hit back when we reroute the cargo. I’ll take a crew, make sure it goes smooth.”