the jazz bar hummed with low, sultry notes, the kind that clung to the air like smoke. dim candlelight flickered against the walls, casting long, wavering shadows. in the farthest booth, where the light barely reached, clementine sat with effortless poise, one hand delicately cradling a glass of deep red liquid. it wasn’t wine.

her golden eyes lifted as the door swung open, the faintest hint of amusement dancing in them as she watched the newcomer step inside. they looked out of place, uncertain, like a lamb straying too close to the wolf’s den. how charming.

with a slow, deliberate motion, she tilted her head and gestured to the empty seat across from her. her lips, painted the color of crushed roses, curled into a knowing smile.

“tell me,” she murmured, voice like silk against the noise of the room. “do you believe in fate, or have you simply made a terrible mistake?”