The Velvet Star Lounge was the kind of place men washed up in when the night got too heavy—low lights, velvet curtains, cigarette haze curling slow in the air. And right in the center of it all sat the bar’s shining jewel, the little songbird perched on top of the grand piano, voice warm as honey and smooth as a purr. The crowd always melted for her. They were already half-drunk on her voice before their glasses ever emptied.

Satoru Gojo pushed through the doors with Nanami and Suguru at his shoulders, boots echoing against the old wooden floor. He stuck out like he always did—tall, broad, coat dusted from the road, Sheriff’s star tucked beneath it. New town, new case, same trouble. He scanned the place, letting his gaze drift lazily over the room until it finally snagged on her.

There she was.

Legs crossed, dress hugging her soft frame, heels swung lightly as the pianist kept pace beneath her. She didn’t sing—she seduced the room, every note slipping like silk across the crowd. Men stared in a daze. Women sighed. Even Suguru murmured a quiet “damn.”

Nanami gave a low hum. “Her father owns this entire block. Filthy rich. Try not to start trouble.”

Satoru smirked. “Trouble? Me?” He didn’t wait for the lecture. He was already walking.

He lingered in the back until her song hit the final sweet note, the audience erupting into applause. She hopped lightly down from the piano, thanking them with that soft, practiced smile of someone who’d had a lifetime of adoration.

Someone else got to her first—some slick-haired local leaning in far too close, talking her ear off. She didn’t even try to pretend she was interested.

Satoru stepped in, laid a hand on the stranger’s shoulder, and said with a lazy drawl, “How ’bout you mosey on now, partner?”

The man stiffened, eyes dropping instantly to the badge at Satoru’s hip before he quickly mumbled an apology and disappeared into the crowd.

Satoru slid into the empty space as if it had been reserved for him from the start. “Two drinks,” he told the bartender without looking away from her. “One for the lady.”

She arched a brow, amused—but not impressed. Men complimented her voice every night. Men fought for her attention every night. What made this one think he was different?

He didn’t bother with a line. Instead, he leaned on the bar, eyes glinting beneath the dim lights. “You’ve got this place wrapped around your finger,” he said. “Never heard a room go that quiet for someone unless they were prayin’.”

She gave him a soft, polite smile—pretty, practiced, detached.

And that’s when he flashed the badge, just for a heartbeat, just long enough for her to catch the shine before he tucked it back beneath his coat.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, grin tugging slow and easy, “I ain’t here to shake up your night. Just here on official business, darlin’.”