Chapter 532: Chapter 532

I pulled the car up in front of the bar and stepped out, the cold air hitting my face right away. Melvin got out after me, hands buried deep in his coat pockets as he hurried to catch up. We headed toward the entrance together, boots crunching lightly against the pavement.

Sophia was right where she always was, standing near the door like a statue. The moment I got closer, I noticed the bruise on her chin. It wasn’t big, but it stood out against her skin. One of those thugs must have gotten a lucky hit in.

I slowed my pace as I approached her. Her posture straightened almost immediately, shoulders tightening, eyes locking onto me like she was expecting trouble. Yeah, she definitely didn’t like me. Not that I cared anymore.

Up close, she looked as intimidating as ever. Buzzcut, old scars running across her arms, muscles tense under her sleeves. She looked like she could take a punch and return it twice as hard.

"I’ll keep it short," I said. "Do you know who came here yesterday? The ones who went after Eleanor?"

"Brok," she answered without hesitation. "Russian. I know him."

"Brok," I repeated, letting the name settle. "Where can I find him?"

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "You got a death wish?"

"Eleanor’s a close friend," I replied evenly. "Just tell me where he is."

Her gaze shifted to Melvin for a second, then back to me. She let out a quiet breath. "Pawn shop. Few blocks from here. Name’s ’Kachinka.’"

"I don’t know it yet," I said. "But I will. Thanks."

"What are you planning to do?" she asked.

"Pay him a visit."

"Alone?"

"I’ll manage."

She clicked her tongue. "I’m coming with you, Marlowe."

"Make that three!" Melvin jumped in, grinning like this was some kind of adventure. "No idea what’s going on, but I’m in!"

I rubbed my face. "Melvin, I can drop you off after this."

"No way, man! I’m staying."

I let out a quiet sigh, then looked back at Sophia. "Is Isabella here?"

She tilted her head toward the door. "Inside. Messing with the drums."

"Got it. Thanks."

We stepped inside.

The bar hit me the same way it always did. Dim lights, a mix of warm orange and neon reflections bouncing off bottles behind the counter. The air smelled like alcohol, smoke, and something faintly sweet. Music played low in the background, more like a hum than anything else.

My eyes moved around the place until they landed on the stage.

There she was. Isabella. Sitting behind the drum set, leaning forward slightly as she adjusted something on the snare. A drum key in her hand, tapping lightly, tuning by ear. Focused. Calm. Like nothing else in the room mattered.

Behind the counter, Emilia noticed me. Our eyes met, and she gave me a small nod.

I nudged Melvin with my elbow. "That’s her."

He swallowed and nodded quickly.

"You know the plan," I continued. "She likes music. Talk about bands, instruments, anything. Just don’t stand there like an idiot."

"I won’t," he muttered, though he already looked like he might.

"I’ll join you in a minute. Gotta talk to someone first."

"Be quick," he said.

"I will. Go."

He took a breath and walked toward the stage, trying to look confident. I watched him for a second, then turned and made my way to the counter.

As I approached, something bright caught my eye on the wall behind Emilia. A bold, colorful sign hung between rows of bottles:

HAPPY SHOT!

The letters were big and loud, painted in neon colors with little doodles around them. Under it, smaller text read: "One shot, good mood guaranteed." Yeah... sure.

I let out a quiet breath and pulled out a stool, sitting down. "Hey," I said. "You look better."

"Evan," Emilia replied, taking a small breath. "Yeah. I am. Thanks to you, I guess."

"And Tuck," I added.

She tilted her head slightly. "Tuck?"

"He helped me find you."

She nodded slowly, like she was piecing things together. "Mm. Right."

I placed some cash on the counter and pointed at the sign. "I’ll take one of those. Happy Shot. And get one for yourself too."

She glanced at the sign, then back at me with a faint smile. "Bold choice."

She grabbed the money and turned around, reaching for a couple of bottles. I watched as she mixed something quick and precise, then poured two small glasses. The liquid had a faint pink tint to it.

She slid one toward me and kept the other.

"Cheers," she said.

"Cheers."

We knocked them back in one go. It burned a little going down, then left a strange, warm sweetness behind.

I leaned back slightly, resting my arm on the counter. Seeing her like this, steady, normal—felt... good. Like something had actually gone right for once.

"Who’s the new guy?" she asked, glancing toward the stage.

I followed her gaze. Melvin was already there, talking. Or trying to. His hands were moving, a little too much. Isabella barely looked at him, still focused on tightening a drum.

"Guy from work," I said. "He’s into her. I’m trying to help."

Emilia let out a short laugh. "That guy? Yeah... not her type."

"I know," I said, exhaling. "Still trying... uh, hey, can I ask something?"

She leaned forward slightly. "What did you want to ask?"

"Were you here yesterday?" I asked. "When those guys showed up?"

She shook her head. "No. Charlotte told me about it though. Sounds bad. Poor Eleanor."

"Yeah," I muttered.

I glanced back again. Melvin was struggling. Talking, pausing, trying again. Isabella gave him a short response without even looking up, then went back to the drums.

I shook my head slightly.

"Alright," I said, pushing myself off the stool. "Time to save him."

Emilia smiled faintly. "Good luck."

"Yeah. I’ll need it. See ya."

"Yup."

I gave her a small nod, then turned and started walking toward the stage.