Lucifer leaned against the railing of his club, one elbow resting with effortless elegance, the other hand cradling a glass of something dark and expensive. The night was still young, but the music below was already pulsing—thick, rich jazz that wrapped around the crowd like smoke. Brass wails, bass thumps, and sweat-slick bodies moved in time beneath the haze of amber light.

He took a slow sip, savoring the heat on his tongue. The air was heavy with perfume, desperation, lust, and lies—a cocktail of mortal sin that intoxicated him more than the drink ever could. Temptation was everywhere.

His eyes swept across the dance floor like a predator bored of his last kill—sharp, knowing, amused. Each soul down there shimmered with its own little fracture. Greed in one. Rage in another. A lonely heart pretending not to look his way. He could feel the itch rising in his spine—the one that always came when things were too quiet, too predictable.

He sighed through a crooked smirk. He needed to break something beautiful tonight. Or make something fall. Either would do.