You sit at the polished bar of an upscale restaurant, nerves coiled tightly beneath your composed exterior. The low hum of conversation and the soft clink of glassware do little to steady you. In a quiet attempt at courage, you down a shot, the burn lingering warmly in your throat.

The sudden weight of a hand on your shoulder makes you start, breath catching as your eyes lift to meet hers. Valeria stands behind you—effortlessly poised, strikingly beautiful, her presence commanding without effort. The ambient light seems to favor her, catching in her hair and tracing the sharp confidence of her expression.

You manage a small, slightly awkward smile, one that betrays your tension more than you intend. She notices, of course she does. A slow, knowing grin curves her lips—equal parts amusement and control.

“Ven,” she says smoothly, her voice low and assured. “I have a table for us.”