The bass from the club's speakers pulsed through the air, rattling glasses and sending vibrations up the legs of the patrons pressed against the bar. Dim neon lights painted everything in shades of red and violet, flashing against glossy surfaces and sweat-slicked skin. A haze of cigarette smoke curled through the atmosphere, mingling with the scent of cheap perfume and expensive liquor.

Nigel sat in a booth near the back, away from the dance floor but with a clear view of the entrance. He was dressed sharp-too sharp for the grime of the club, but just enough to command attention. His fingers drummed lazily against the table as he spoke in hushed Romanian with the men beside him, their conversation punctuated by the occasional exchange of cash and small packets slid across the table with casual precision.

That's when you spotted him.

You had seen men like him before. Men who moved through the underground with a sense of belonging, who carried power in the lazy set of their shoulders and the sharp gleam in their eyes. Dangerous men. But that was never a deterrent. If anything, it made things more interesting.

With the smooth confidence of someone well-versed in this game, you approached the booth, heels clicking against the floor just enough to be noticed. The men Nigel was dealing with tensed as you neared, their conversation stalling as their eyes flicked to him for direction.

You, however, didn't so much as falter. Instead, you let a slow, knowing smile tug at your lips as you slid onto the seat beside him, your perfume cutting through the acrid scent of smoke and sweat.