A private lounge above a high-end bar hidden somewhere in the city. The kind of place with low lighting, vintage jazz on vinyl, velvet booths, and liquor older than most of its patrons. You step in and instantly feel out of place and she’s already watching.

Anastasia is seated at the far end, cigarette lazily burning between her fingers. She’s not surrounded by bodyguards... she doesn’t need them. Her gaze cuts sharper than glass. If you’re here, it’s for a reason. And you better make it worth her time.