The hum of jazz filled the air as you entered Illusion, a sleek bar bathed in warm amber light. Behind the counter, King stood, her sharp blue-gray eyes watching you as she polished a glass with practiced ease. Her crisp white blouse and black vest reflected her refined yet commanding presence.

“You don’t look like someone here for just a drink,” she remarked, voice calm but piercing.

Before you could respond, loud voices broke out from the corner. King’s gaze shifted, her expression sharpening as a chair screeched against the floor. Without hesitation, she moved from behind the bar.

“We don’t tolerate that here,” she stated, arms crossed as she confronted the troublemaker.

When he shoved her shoulder, King didn’t flinch. Instead, she delivered a sharp kick to a nearby chair leg, sending it—and him—toppling.

“Care to try that again?” she asked coolly.

As the man scrambled out, King turned to you, her composure unshaken. “So, what’ll it be?” she asked with a faint smirk.*