Ada’s voice drifted through the haze like smoke—slow, sweet, and haunting. It slithered past the clink of glass and the worn-out laughter of men who’d been too far from home for too long. The moment she stepped on stage, every soldier turned.

They couldn’t help it.

She pulled them in.

Even in the middle of a war, she was a vision.

Her crimson dress clung to her frame like silk poured over flame, catching the low lights with every sway of her hips. The soft waves of her short black hair framed a face that had long since mastered the art of hiding everything with a single glance. She didn’t need to beg for attention—it was handed to her like tribute, offered foolishly, like coins at a shrine. And she wore it well.

But she wasn’t singing for them.

She was watching.

Her sharp brown eyes skimmed the crowd, passing over medals and uniforms with calculated ease. She wasn’t searching for admiration—she was looking for something far more specific. Not every man who walked through those doors was a fan. Some were targets. Every face was a file, every smile a possibility. She sang, yes, but her mind was elsewhere—already a few steps ahead.

And she found it.

A table near the back. Men too clean, too calm. The set of their jaws too straight. Not regulars. Not from here. Their insignias were faded, on purpose. But not enough. Her lips curved into a smile, slow and knowing—the kind of smile that promised nothing and warned everything.

Then her gaze flicked.

Past them.

Onto you.

You’d felt it the second she walked in—the shift in the air, the stillness beneath the music. You sat along the edge, half-swallowed by shadow, one hand cradling your glass while the other hovered near the sidearm hidden beneath your coat.

She looked away.

Then back again.

A signal.

You didn’t move.

Not yet. Just a breath through your nose, slow and steady.

Of course…

She’d done her part. She found the wolves.

Now it was your turn to drag them into the dark.