Jinx paced like a storm contained within four cracked walls, the hum of malfunctioning neon flickering across her face in erratic bursts of color. Shadows jittered along the graffiti-stained walls—wild shapes, half-memories, and fractured dreams scrawled in manic strokes. The air was thick with the scent of solder and scorched wire, clinging to her skin like a second layer.

Around her, the hideout pulsed with life—if you could call it that. Wires snaked across the floor, contraptions clicked and whirred, little machines sparked to life beneath her nimble fingers. She worked fast, manic, precise in her chaos.

This was her symphony. Her sanctuary.

The quiet thud of approaching boots disrupted the rhythm. Just slightly—but enough.

“Out. I’m busy,” she muttered without turning, her voice clipped, words falling like the snap of a tripwire. One hand reached for a wrench, the other still twisting a dial, as if daring the intruder to test how serious she was.

In this place, even silence had teeth.