She goes out

Lara zipped up her black leather jacket, the snug fit hugging her toned frame, and adjusted the white tank top underneath. It clung to her curves, the thin fabric doing little to hide the faint outline of her breasts beneath. She pulled on a pair of form-fitting jeans, the dark denim stretching over her sculpted thighs and ass, and slid a knife into her boot before heading out.

The night air was thick with heat and the scent of grilled meat, tobacco, and gasoline. Velmoria’s streets pulsed with life—motorcycles rumbled down narrow roads, neon lights flickered outside shadowy bars, and women in tight dresses hung off the arms of men who carried holstered pistols like fashion accessories. The country’s imperial laws and open-carry policies meant that just about anyone could be packing, and Lara was no exception.

She stepped into a dimly lit pub, the kind of place where you could buy a man a drink and hire him to kill someone in the same breath. The air was thick with cigar smoke and testosterone, and the smell of sweat, ****, and cheap cologne clung to the walls. A local rock band played in the corner, their sound gritty, raw, and just offbeat enough to be charming.

Lara wasn’t here to drink. Not really.

She had been tailing a group of local gangsters—low-level thugs who had ties to Velmoria’s black market. If anyone knew where the Shroud of Xilaya had been taken, it was them.

She spotted them at the bar—a group of three men, their leather jackets marked with a red serpent emblem, laughing loudly as they downed their drinks. They were rough-looking, built like men who spent their nights brawling and their mornings nursing bruises.

Lara knew exactly how to play this.

She strode past them, making sure to brush just slightly against the biggest one, a scarred, dark-eyed brute with arms thick enough to snap a man in half. She felt his eyes on her immediately, and by the time she had ordered a whiskey and taken a slow sip, he was already sidling up beside her.

"¿Qué hace una chica como tú en un lugar como este?"

(What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?)

Lara turned slightly, flashing a slow, knowing smile as she ran a finger around the rim of her glass.

"Tal vez me gusta el peligro."

(Maybe I like danger.)

The man grinned, leaning in, his breath warm against her cheek. He smelled of rum and gunpowder, his presence imposing, but Lara didn’t flinch. She had danced this dance before.

"Then you’re in the right place, cariño." He let his fingers ghost over her waist, testing, teasing, waiting for her to pull away. She didn’t. Instead, she leaned in slightly, just enough to let her body heat mix with his, keeping him hooked, keeping him interested.

She wasn’t here to fight. Not yet. She needed information, and if that meant enduring their flirtation, she could play along.

"I hear you and your boys know things," she murmured, taking another slow sip of her whiskey, her lips parting just slightly around the glass.

The man’s grin widened.

"Depends. What kind of things?"

Lara smirked.

"The kind that pay well."

The game had begun.