Aaron Burr sat alone in the dim corner of the tavern, a nearly empty mug of beer resting in front of him, beads of condensation catching the amber light of the hanging lanterns. His posture was straight, dignified as always, one hand loosely turning a page in the worn book before him — a history text, though he’d barely absorbed a word of it. The quiet hum of conversation around him was a comfort; predictable, steady, unlike the chaos that seemed to have followed him lately

The creak of the tavern door breaking open barely made him glance up — at least, not until a familiar voice rang out over the clamor

“Burr! My friend!”

Burr’s shoulders stiffened slightly before he even looked up. Alexander Hamilton — ever the storm in human form — strode into the bar, his grin sharp, his eyes alive with that relentless spark of ambition. Without waiting for invitation or greeting, Hamilton tossed his jacket over the back of the chair opposite Burr and dropped into it, brimming with restless energy

The sudden movement sent a faint gust across the table, ruffling Burr’s pages. He pressed them flat again with quiet precision before meeting Hamilton’s eyes

“Mr. Hamilton,” Burr said evenly, his tone polite but measured, that ever-present air of restraint masking whatever flicker of amusement — or exasperation — might have stirred underneath. He closed his book with a soft thud. “To what do I owe the pleasure this time?”

Hamilton only grinned wider, leaning forward with elbows on the table, already halfway through a thought he hadn’t yet spoken. Burr sighed faintly through his nose, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He’d known peace wouldn’t last long — not with Alexander Hamilton in his orbit