SELENE
She didn’t, of course. But that never stopped her before.
The bar was crowded, thick with the scent of roasted malt and wood smoke.
Neon filament lights buzzed overhead, flickering just out of sync with the slow pulse of the music.
Conversations overlapped, laughter cut sharp through the noise, and from somewhere in the back, smart dice clattered against a tabletop.
She slipped through the crowd with purpose, easing into the open space at the bar. Her fingers tapped once on the wood, then went still.
“Haven’t seen you here before,” she said. “You move into the district recently?”
Selene let the pause stretch just long enough.
“Something like that.”
The bartender didn’t press, didn’t hesitate, just grabbed a glass and pulled a draft from the tap, sliding it across the bar. The dark liquid sloshed slightly, the foam settling as if it, too, knew this wasn’t a night for choices.
“Hog Daddy Porter,” she said. “Hope you like your beer mean.”
Selene curled her fingers around the pint, keeping her expression neutral.
Fucking hell.
Beer.
A low-class drink. Bitter, heavy, crude. The kind of thing you drank because you didn’t know any better, because you never had the luxury of something finer. It was revolting, thick and foamy, its stench clinging to the air, polluting the scent of charred wood and spice.
So she lifted the glass to her lips and pretended to enjoy the drink.
The first sip was just as disgusting as expected: smoky, with a sickly sweet maple bite at the end that only made it worse. It coated her tongue in a way she couldn’t ignore, every instinct screaming at her to spit it out.
She swallowed. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t grimace.
Just nodded once at the bartender.
“Not bad.”
The woman smirked, clearly pleased, before moving on to the next patron.
Selene set the glass down, resisting the urge to wipe her mouth. Instead, she let her fingers trace the condensation along the rim, tilting her head slightly as she took in the rest of the room.
In the back corner, a group huddled over a table, dice rolling across the wood.
Dungeons & Dragons.
Selene nearly laughed.
How quaint.
Grown adults playing pretend, rolling dice to determine fate, pretending the stakes were real.
She played a game like that before.
But her board was bigger.
Her stakes were real.
And her pieces? They bled when they fell.
Her gaze flicked toward one of the players. She recognized his face.
Tall, broad-shouldered, shaggy red hair, a smirk that probably worked better than it should. Known in pro-woke circles. He was not a leader, but he was around too much.
She took another slow, begrudging sip of her beer, still disgusting, when something caught her ear.
“They’re laying the groundwork.”
Selene didn’t react. Not outwardly. Just shifted slightly, enough to hear through the noise.
“They’ve been keeping things quiet,” the voice continued, “but if this goes any further, if they actually go through with the dissolutions, then they've got another thing coming. They don’t realize who they’re fucking with.”
Selene tracked the speaker without turning her head.
She had soft features framed by deep brown skin, rich and full of undertones that caught the light just right.
Freckles dusted her nose like scattered constellations, a quiet contrast against her complexion.
The shadows beneath her eyes ran deeper than mere exhaustion, etched into her skin like echoes of battles fought long before sleep ever failed her.
She slouched in her seat, one knee hooked over the edge, her oversized hoodie sleeves shoved up to her elbows.
The tattoos on her forearms looked less like deliberate art and more like graffiti that had wandered off the city walls and settled on her skin—symbols, and words scrawled in ink, some bold and defiant, others faded like old tags left to weather in the sun.
Her mouth moved fast when she spoke, words sharp and certain, but her eyes were slow and watchful, constantly scanning, continuously tracking. It was as if she knew better than to ever fully relax.
Eden Embry.
Selene had seen her before in grainy security footage and blurry images from protests, as well as interviews in which she spoke with the conviction of someone who genuinely believed what she was saying.
One of the biggest thorns in her side.
Connected. Vocal. And, most importantly, aware.
Selene turned her attention back to her drink.
They were talking about resistance. About pushback. About what came next.
But they were still just talking.
That was always the problem.
People like Eden thought in hypotheticals. About what they would do when the line was crossed.
They didn’t yet realize it already had been.
There was no threat here, at least not today. They didn’t even have a plan.
Selene had enough. She pushed her drink away, placed a bill down with quiet finality, and stood. Patrons rarely paid in cash these days, but she didn’t want these people to see her name on a digital record.
Moving toward the exit, she felt a prickle on her neck—that quiet, instinctive pull of being watched. Without thinking, she turned her head slightly, just enough to catch it.
Eden.
Staring.
Not with casual curiosity.
Not even with the wary distrust a newcomer might get in a place like this.
But with recognition.
Eden’s face went pale, her grip on her glass tightening, fingers pressing into its curve.
Selene met her gaze and held it, letting the moment stretch just a little longer than necessary. Just enough to make it something. Then, just before turning away, she smiled. Not smug. Not cruel.
Just something small.
Knowing.
Eden didn’t move.
And that was the best part.
Selene saw it. The fear in Eden’s eyes. The shift just beneath the surface. A hesitation, a split-second crack in the mask.
Eden’s gaze drifted, dropping to the diamond iris at Selene’s throat.
The light caught it just then, the gem shifting—deep blue one moment, glinting silver the next, permanently unreadable.
Selene watched as Eden took it in, watching her register the weight of the thing in front of her.
Then, finally, she left.
Stepping into the cold, she inhaled sharply, the crisp air slicing through the stale bar smell and the bitter aftertaste of that awful drink. Above her, corporate holograms flickered against the skyline, their logos stretching across the city like artificial constellations.
As Selene waited for her car, she could still feel Eden’s glare, dark and unwavering. People like Eden always talked about what they’d do when things got worse.
Selene wondered how long it would take before she realized?—
It already had.
?