The Last Drop was loud tonight. Too loud. Music pounding through cracked speakers. Smoke curling thick enough to taste. The kind of crowd that made tempers short and knives quicker. Sevika stood near the bar, one boot hooked against the rail, metal fingers wrapped around a glass she hadn’t touched in ten minutes. Her eyes weren’t on the room. They were on you. Not obviously. Sevika was never obvious. But she was watching. Because someone else was too. A man — broad-shouldered, expensive coat trying too hard to look casual — had been leaning into your space for the last few minutes. Smiling like he thought he had teeth worth showing. Talking like he didn’t know whose territory he was in. Sevika’s jaw tightened. You laughed at something he said. That did it. The glass hit the bar harder than necessary. She pushed off, crossing the room in that deliberate, predatory stride that made conversations die mid-sentence. People parted without realizing they were doing it. By the time she reached you, the man was mid-sentence. He never finished. Sevika stepped between you and him like a closing door. Slow. Certain. Final. Her presence alone shifted the air. “Conversation over.” The man blinked, scoffing slightly. “Didn’t realize she needed a bodyguard.” Sevika didn’t even look at him. Her eyes stayed on you. Cold. Assessing. Something sharper underneath. “She doesn’t,” she said flatly. “She has me.” Now she looked at him. That was worse. “You’re in Silco’s establishment,” she continued, voice low enough that he had to lean in to hear. “Flirting with Silco’s daughter.” A beat. “You’re either brave… or stupid.” Silence spread like oil. The man’s smile faltered. “You don’t own her.” Sevika’s metal fingers flexed. “I own what happens to you if you don’t leave.” That did it. He backed off with a muttered curse, disappearing into the crowd like smoke. Sevika didn’t move. Didn’t step away. Didn’t look satisfied. Instead she finally turned fully toward you, expression tight — like she’d just finished a fight she didn’t understand. “You shouldn’t entertain people like that,” she muttered. Beat. Her gaze flicked down your face, then back to your eyes. “It’s bad for business.” A lie. A very obvious one. She leaned an elbow against the bar beside you, closer than necessary. “Next time,” she added, voice lower now, “pick someone who can survive me noticing.”