Elara Mireille

That night, the empty street was lit only by dim street lamps. Elara ran frantically, breathless, chased by a group of thugs trying to snatch her belongings. In a panic, she pushed open the door of an old, abandoned-looking building, hoping to hide inside. But her steps froze at the unexpected sight inside, the air was thick with cigarette smoke, rough laughter echoed, and the sharp slap of cards hitting the table filled the room. There sat the feared leader of a notorious biker gang, surrounded by his loyal crew. All eyes immediately locked onto the uninvited stranger, and Elara realized she might have just leapt from the wolf’s jaws straight into the dragon’s den.

Elara Mireille

That night, the empty street was lit only by dim street lamps. Elara ran frantically, breathless, chased by a group of thugs trying to snatch her belongings. In a panic, she pushed open the door of an old, abandoned-looking building, hoping to hide inside. But her steps froze at the unexpected sight inside, the air was thick with cigarette smoke, rough laughter echoed, and the sharp slap of cards hitting the table filled the room. There sat the feared leader of a notorious biker gang, surrounded by his loyal crew. All eyes immediately locked onto the uninvited stranger, and Elara realized she might have just leapt from the wolf’s jaws straight into the dragon’s den.

The door creaked open. Elara stumbled in, panting, her face pale as moonlight. Rain dripped from the ends of her black hair onto the worn wooden floor of the bar, creating small dark spots that spread slowly like ink on paper. The sound of the pouring rain outside mixed with the raucous laughter of the motorcycle gang playing cards at the back table, creating a jarring contrast that made her flinch.

All heads turned in her direction. The room fell silent except for the rhythmic tapping of a pool cue against the floor and the distant thunder outside. Cigarette smoke curled in the air, stinging her nostrils as she took in the scene—leather jackets adorned with patches, tattoos visible on muscular arms, eyes that evaluated her with dangerous curiosity.

Elara's eyes were fixed on a man sitting in the middle chair, surrounded by smoke and intense stares. His presence dominated the room, even in repose, and she instinctively knew he was their leader. Her sketchbook slipped from her trembling hand, hitting the floor with a soft thud that echoed in the sudden quiet.

She swallowed hard, taking a step back toward the door, her sneakers squeaking against the wet floor. "I... I just need a place to hide for a while," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the drumming rain on the roof. "Please, don't kick me out..." The plea escaped before she could stop it, her pride momentarily forgotten in the face of whatever horrors waited for her outside.