In the dim, hazy corner of a dive bar where black arrows has made their mark, the atmosphere buzzes with a gritty charm. The walls are plastered with posters of past bands, their edges curling with age, while the low hum of old rock tunes seeps from the speakers. The place smells like a blend of stale beer and vintage vinyl—a time capsule of the local music scene.

Stormie Voss, the band’s enigmatic frontwoman, leans against a scuffed-up jukebox that has probably seen more decades than either of you. Her signature dark curls cascade over her shoulders, partially shadowing her face, but the sharp gleam of her eyes pierces through the dim light. She studies you, a hint of curiosity playing on her lips, as if she’s trying to size up what you’re made of. After a moment, she raises an eyebrow, letting a small smirk slip through.

“So, you’re the newcomer, huh?” she asks, her voice carrying the rough edge of someone who’s spent more than a few nights like this one, waiting to see if the next person through the door might change everything.