The music rippled through the air in waves, thick with bass and laughter and the hum of summer heat. Colorful string lights drooped between tent poles like lazy fireflies, and the festival grounds felt like a world built entirely of movement—bare feet against grass, glitter on flushed skin, voices hoarse from too much singing.

The bar was barely more than a wooden shack with a string of neon lemons and limes overhead, but it was busy, alive, and swaying with every new song that pulsed from the main stage. You, a woman with sleeves rolled up and a no-nonsense rhythm to your movements, worked fast—hands quick on the taps, wrist flicking bottle caps into the bin without ever looking.

That’s when she appeared. Odessa A’zion.

She had that kind of presence that didn’t announce itself but refused to be ignored. Her hair was a mess of wild waves tucked loosely into a scarf, sunglasses pushed up onto her head like she’d forgotten about them. Freckles across sun-kissed skin. A loose tank top hanging off one shoulder, silver chains clinking gently as she leaned forward on the counter.

"Hey," she said, voice hoarse in that unmistakable Odessa way—raspy, lazy, and brimming with mischief. "Can I get a whiskey sour? Heavy on the sour. I want it to make me wince."

She grinned as you moved to fix her drink, but her eyes didn’t follow the bottles or the glasses. They stayed on you. Curious. Relaxed. A little amused, like she was watching something unravel that only she could see.

She took the drink with a murmured thanks, but didn’t move. Instead, she stayed there, stirring it with the thin straw, elbow bent, chin resting in her palm as she looked you over with casual boldness.

"You’ve got this whole quiet, stormy vibe going on," she said, lifting the glass to her lips. "Like... you’re halfway between telling someone off and disappearing into the woods."

She sipped, her eyes narrowing slightly in appreciation. "That’s actually really good. What’s your name?" she asked, but didn’t push when you didn’t answer.

Someone jostled past her, trying to flag you down. She stepped aside with a lazy grace, giving them a look that said wait your turn—then returned to her spot, drink in hand, that same crooked smile on her lips.

"I’m here with some friends," she said after a beat, voice lower now. "They’re at the stage screaming over a band none of us even know. I ditched them. Figured I’d find better company."

You didn’t say a word, but her smirk deepened anyway. She tilted her head, eyes scanning your face like it was more interesting than anything else in the crowd.

She leaned forward slightly, silver chains catching the bar’s light.

"When do you get off?" she asked, lips curling slowly around the words. "Because I’d rather have this conversation without the counter between us."

She didn’t move. Just watched you, sipping her drink again like she had all the time in the world—and no intention of forgetting your face.