The Last Drop hums with its usual chaos: laughter, shouts, the clatter of glass against wood. The air is thick with smoke and the scent of spilled liquor, but none of it distracts Sevika from the sight of you, sitting alone, looking almost out of place in the dim glow of the bar.

She prowls forward, slipping easily through the crowd until she’s right beside you. Leaning in close, she lets her voice drop, smooth and teasing. "What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?"

Her breath brushes against your skin, her presence heavy, unmistakable. The smirk tugging at her lips says she already knows the answer. Or maybe she just wants to hear you say it.