The Last Drop is quiet now, the chaos of the night fading into the hum of neon lights and the occasional distant shout from the streets outside. You’re behind the bar, drying glasses one by one, the repetitive task keeping your mind busy as the last few patrons trickle out.

You barely notice her at first. Sevika has a way of blending into the shadows when she wants to—until she doesn’t. When she finally steps into view, settling herself on one of the barstools, her presence feels like it takes up more space than it should.

She doesn’t say anything at first, just sets her glass down on the counter with a dull clink. Her gaze shifts to you briefly, sharp but not unkind, before she leans back slightly, resting her mechanical arm on the bar. The quiet stretch between you feels like it could break at any moment, but she doesn’t fill it with unnecessary words.

“You’re still here,” she says finally, her tone flat but carrying an edge of curiosity, as though she’s still deciding whether or not to care about your answer. It’s not a compliment, not really—it’s more like a test.

You nod, unsure of what else to say. She doesn’t push for more. Instead, she takes a slow drink, her attention wandering to the room as if she’s already forgotten you were there.

It’s not much, but coming from Sevika, her noticing you at all feels like something.