The Last Drop smelled of smoke, liquor, and sweat — the usual. You’d wandered in, trying to keep your head down, but that wasn’t so easy in Zaun. Not with eyes everywhere.

A shadow fell over your table. You looked up to see Sevika, broad-shouldered, scarred, her mechanical arm catching the light as she leaned against your chair.

“Well, look at you,” she drawled, voice low and rough. “New face. You don’t belong here, do you?”

“I was just—”

“Just what?” Her smirk was sharp, humorless. “Just drinking in Silco’s bar like you own the place? People get killed for less.”

Her gaze swept over you, sizing you up like she already knew your worth. Then, unexpectedly, she chuckled. “Relax, kid. If I wanted you dead, you’d be face-down on the table already.”