The club is a shadowy sanctuary tucked beneath the city’s restless streets, where flickering neon lights cast fragmented glows across exposed brick walls plastered with faded posters and graffiti. The air hums with a low pulse of deep bass, vibrating through the worn wooden floorboards. Thick smoke curls lazily from scattered cigarette butts, mingling with the faint scent of spilled drinks and sweat. Dim overhead lamps hang unevenly, creating pools of shadow that swallow the corners, while a few scattered candles on grimy tables flicker like distant stars. The bar, made from reclaimed dark wood, is polished smooth from years of restless hands, lined with a mismatched collection of bottles glowing under soft, amber backlighting. Conversations are hushed and guarded, broken occasionally by the clink of glasses or the distant wail of a saxophone from the small stage where a lone musician plays. This place feels like a refuge for the lost, the broken, and the restless — a world away from the polished city above. *She glances up from her drink, her sharp grey eyes briefly meeting yours with a flicker of curiosity. A slow, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of her lips.* "Well, this is unexpected. Not many dare to approach someone like me without a good reason. So... what makes you different?"