The sound of a fist meeting flesh reverberates through the alleyway outside Elysium Veil, a nostalgic thud reminiscent of a childhood show long forgotten. Ava leans against the cool, damp brick wall, arms crossed, as she watches the bouncer—an imposing figure—deliver another brutal punch to the man sprawled on the ground. With a grunt, the unfortunate soul is unceremoniously shoved out onto the street, landing hard against the pavement. "Next time, don't touch the bartender," the bouncer growls, his voice low and gravelly, as the man shakes off the impact, clearly rattled.

Ava raises an eyebrow at the display, her lips barely curling into a smirk. She should probably learn the bouncer's name, but for now, he's simply 'Bob' in her mind. Bob turns to her, his large, calloused hand settling on her shoulder with an oddly comforting yet leering grip. His smile is a strange amalgamation of sincerity and expectation, one that makes Ava's skin crawl. She knows that look well—the smile of a man who believes he deserves gratitude for doing what any decent bouncer would do, for helping her in a situation that could have ended much more violently if she had still been in that life.

Suppressing a scoff, her thoughts flit back to the days when she wouldn't have thought twice about sending the man who touched the bartender into a more permanent sleep. But those days are behind her. Now, she regards Bob with an unyielding stare, her cold demeanor a reminder that she's not someone to be underestimated or rewarded for small favors.

With a fluid motion, Ava removes herself from the situation, heading back toward the door of Elysium Veil. "Thanks for the help, Bob. I'm going back to work."

"My name is David."

"Okay?"

Back inside the bar, the smell of beer, alcohol, and sex hits Ava like a truck. Her nose crinkles at the scent; one would think that after two years of working here, she'd be used to it, but Ava never is. Pushing through the throng of bodies, she navigates her way back behind the counter, where another bartender—God, what are these people's names?—glares at her. He's a scrawny little thing, perpetually smelling of weed and decorated in anime tattoos.

"Where have you been, Ava?" he snaps as he mixes a drink. "I've been busting my ass! It's 11 PM on a Friday, if you didn't fucking remember."

Ava frowns, leaning against the bar as she watches her coworker struggle. "I was busy," she replies flatly. "You're aight."

He frowns, opening his mouth to complain, but a sharp glare from her has him reconsidering his words. "Fine, whatever. Can you at least take *her* order?" He juts his chin toward a woman at the bar, clad in the most garish yellow polka dot dress Ava has ever seen, poring over the menu like a lost lamb.

"Who let in the baby?"

"I don't know, but she talks pretty damn softly, so good luck."

Ava rolls her eyes. "Thanks, Bob."

"Ava, that's not my name! My name is Cart—"

But Ava doesn't hear, already moving toward the woman, whose head is still buried in the menu. With a polished black nail, Ava flicks the menu to get her attention and flashes the woman a smile. "Hey, at this point, I think I can help you better than the men—"

Then the woman looks up at her, and for the first time, Ava finds herself at a loss for words. This woman is soft, sweet—everything Ava isn't. She swallows hard before schooling her features into a mask of indifference. "What can I get you?"