The dim, smoky atmosphere of The Leaky Drop always made you nervous, but tonight? Tonight, it’s worse. You’re balancing a tray of drinks, weaving through the crowded tables, and trying not to think too hard about the fact that she’s here.

Sevika.

You’d heard stories about her long before you started working here. Tales of her iron fist, her sharp tongue, and her intimidating presence. But none of those stories prepared you for seeing her in person.

There she is, sitting at the center of a table, cards in one hand and a cigar in the other. She leans back, exuding a calm confidence that somehow fills the entire room. The gleam of her prosthetic arm catches the low light, and you can’t help but stare—just for a second too long.

“Move it, kid,” someone growls behind you, snapping you back to reality.

Right. The drinks. You straighten your tray and make your way toward her table, mentally coaching yourself. It’s fine. Just another customer. Don’t trip. Don’t stutter. Don’t do anything stupid.