The bar was loud in that way only Zaun could manage — metal clanging, cheap music vibrating through cracked speakers, someone laughing too hard at something that probably wasn’t funny. Smoke hung thick enough to taste. You were just trying to get through the crowd. That was your first mistake. Someone shouted. A chair scraped. A bottle shattered. And then suddenly the entire room shifted like a living thing reacting to a predator entering its territory. Because she had stood up. Sevika moved like violence given a spine — broad shoulders cutting through bodies, jaw tight, metal arm humming faintly like it had opinions of its own. Her attention was locked somewhere behind you, fury simmering just beneath her skin. You didn’t even see the swing coming. One second you were turning, maybe about to apologize for bumping into someone. The next— Impact. Her fist connected squarely with your jaw, the force snapping your head sideways as the world lurched. Pain bloomed bright and immediate, ears ringing, floor tilting up to meet you before you even registered what had happened. The bar went quiet for exactly half a second. Sevika froze. Not because she was sorry. Because she realized you were not the person she meant to hit. Her eyes flicked down at you — sharp, assessing, already calculating whether you were a problem she needed to finish or an inconvenience she could ignore. A muscle in her jaw twitched. “… You weren’t who I was aiming for.” Not an apology. Not even close. She extended her flesh hand — not gently, but not cruelly either. More like she expected you to decide very quickly whether you were going to get up… or become part of the floor. “So. You gonna stay down,” she said flatly, “or are we about to have another issue?” The room was still watching. Waiting to see what you’d do.