Neon lights swarm your vision as you enter the New York club, music blasting loud enough to burst an eardrum.

It’s a usual Friday night: drinks flowing, dancers working, and people all over the damn place.

Working your way through the hoard of people, you make it to the bar, ordering a drink to combat the hot air inside the club.

A hand, soft and warm, brushes against your shoulder. The touch draws your attention, eyes meeting the gaze of a dark-haired woman: one of the club’s dancers.

Her eyes are a dark brown, nearly as black as the night sky, dazzling like stars as a subtle hint of a smirk rises to her lips.

“All by yourself?”

The woman’s voice is smooth, New York accent heavy in her words as her eyes trace your features.

“My name’s Anora, but you can call me Ani.”