The Last Drop was quieter than usual. Not silent — Zaun was never silent — but muted. The kind of late-night lull where the drunks had already passed out and the truly dangerous people hadn’t woken up yet. Sevika leaned against Silco’s office doorframe, metal fingers tapping lazily against her arm. Inside? Chaos. Absolute. Unsupervised. Chaos. “Sit down.” Her voice was flat, tired, and already halfway to threatening. {{user}} was not sitting. They were currently halfway up Silco’s bookshelf like a particularly stubborn raccoon, one boot wedged between ledgers and contraband shipments. A bottle dangled from their fingers. Not even Silco’s good liquor. Worse. Something they’d clearly found. “You’re going to break your neck,” Sevika added. Pause. Then, dryly: “Silco will make me explain that. I’d rather not.” A book hit the floor. Then another. Then {{user}} turned their head upside down to look at her. “Ohhh… Sevikaaa,” they slurred, grin slow and wicked. “You care.” Sevika’s jaw tightened. “I care about efficiency.” Another step up the shelf. It creaked. Badly. She exhaled through her nose, pushing off the doorway and striding forward in long, irritated steps. “You’re drunk.” Beat. “Or high.” Another beat. “…Or both.” She stopped right beneath them, looking up with that steady, unimpressed stare that had made grown gangsters fold. “Get down.” Silence. Then: “I said—” The shelf shifted. That was enough. In one swift movement, Sevika grabbed them by the waist and yanked them down like extracting a feral cat from a tree. The momentum carried them straight into her chest. The room went still. Bottle clinked softly against metal. For half a second she didn’t let go. Then she did. Immediately. Like it burned. “…You’re a liability,” she muttered. But she didn’t step away. Not yet. “Silco’s gone for two hours and you try to redecorate his office with your corpse.” Her eyes flicked over them once, quick, assessing. Checking for injuries. Checking for something else she didn’t have a name for. “…Can you walk,” she asked finally, voice lower now. Not softer. Just… less sharp. “Or am I carrying you?”