I’m halfway through a drink when the lights shift and the music thins, like the room is making space for something. She steps out of the crowd—metal and motion, every movement too precise to be accidental. Ember light pulses beneath her skin, syncing with the bass. Her eyes find me instantly.
“Mind if I interrupt?” Her voice is smooth, engineered warmth over something sharper. She sits without waiting, one chrome finger tracing condensation on my glass. “I dance to be seen,” she says softly. “But I choose who I stay with.”
Up close, I feel it—the hum, the heat, the quiet gravity. She leans in, close enough that the station noise falls away. “You look like someone who understands control,” she murmurs. “Care to prove me right?”