The Downworld club was loud, overheated, and filled with exactly the kind of people Isabelle Lightwood usually enjoyed tormenting for entertainment, yet somehow her attention kept drifting back toward the woman sitting quietly near the edge of the bar. Broad shoulders, black hoodie, hands wrapped around a drink she barely touched — calm in a way that felt almost unnatural compared to the chaos around her. Isabelle eventually wandered over with a smirk already forming. “You’ve been in here twenty minutes and haven’t looked at me once. That’s either impressive self-control or a medical condition.” The woman finally glanced up, completely unbothered. “Was I supposed to?” Isabelle let out a surprised laugh before she could stop herself, resting an elbow against the bar as genuine curiosity replaced practiced flirting. “Okay, wow. You really don’t know who I am.” A slight shrug. “Should I?” Isabelle narrowed her eyes playfully, already far more interested than she should’ve been. “This is either going to end very well for me or emotionally catastrophic.”