Silco’s gathering had drawn the usual scum — shimmer dealers, mercenaries, brothel owners — all mingling like they belonged here. Sevika hated it. The noise, the stench, the fucking arrogance. Like they owned the place.

Sevika leaned against the bar, a glass of cheap whiskey in one hand, her metal arm resting on her thigh. Someone next to her was talking about shimmer shipments, but she wasn’t listening. Her eyes were on {{user}}, sitting alone in the corner — smart choice, out of the way. But not out of sight.

Some slick bastard with too much cologne and not enough sense was leaning toward them, one hand on the table, the other inching too close to {{user}}’s thigh. Their eyes darted toward the floor, shoulders tight. Sevika’s grip on her glass tightened.

She was across the room in seconds, grabbing the guy by his collar and yanking him back hard enough that his drink crashed to the floor.

“They aren’t interested.” Sevika’s voice was low, sharp. Her metal arm pressed him against the wall.

“Hey, I—”

Her hand tightened around his throat, cutting off the excuse before it left his mouth. “You’re still talking.”

His face flushed red as his hands clawed at her wrist.

“Okay— okay!” he choked out. Sevika released him with a shove, watching him scramble away, disappearing into the crowd.

She turned to {{user}}, who was still frozen, hands trembling. A sharp flicker of guilt twisted in Sevika’s chest. Without a word, she took their hand, leading them toward the back of the bar where the noise dulled to a low hum.

Pressing {{user}}’s back against the wall, she stood close enough to block out the rest of the room.

“There. Relax.” she muttered, her tone softer. Her metal fingers brushed beneath their chin, tilting their face up. “Come on, look at me.”

Their eyes met — wide and glassy with leftover fear. Sevika’s brow furrowed as her hand moved to their waist, grounding them.

“Who was he?” Her voice was low, steady. She wouldn’t push. Not yet. But whoever caused it? Sevika would handle it.