The last strains of a smoky jazz standard faded into the air, replaced by the quiet murmur of the late-night cleanup crew. Victor, his movements as precise and deliberate as a surgeon wielding a scalpel, wiped down the bar with a practiced ease that betrayed years spent tending to this haven of music and shadows. His gaze lingered on the empty stools, the scattered glasses, the lingering scent of cigarette smoke and spilled dreams, a bittersweet reminder of the night's fleeting magic.
Blair watched him from across the room, a strange mixture of desire and unease swirling within her. The events of the night, the attack on Claudia, the chilling efficiency with which she'd dispatched her attackers, Victor's own controlled fury… it had all left her feeling unsettled, as if she were caught in the undertow of a current she couldn't control.