𝐀𝐜𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞 -- One of the Girls
𝟎𝟎𝟒 : Absence
(𝘼𝙧𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙚, pre-show)

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐀 avoided Babette's after that. Not because she couldn't handle herself—she wasn't exactly the type to cower away from anything—but because being there made something inside her twist in ways she wasn't willing to examine too closely.

It was inconvenient, to say the least. For starters, her job quite literally required her to visit Babette's every other week to keep tabs on the intel flowing in and out of the place. And, secondly—though she wouldn't admit this to anyone—she rather liked indulging in the pleasures the establishment had to offer.

Babette's wasn't just a brothel. It was an escape—a dimly lit sanctuary of silken curtains, intoxicating perfumes, and whispered secrets. The atmosphere buzzed with a heady mix of danger and desire, and Sevika, for all her rugged pragmatism, was not immune to its charms.

But after her last visit—after her—Babette's had started to feel less like an escape and more like a trap.

Every time she stepped through the doors, the memory of Enchantress's coy smirk, her teasing words, and the way she'd tilted the power dynamic so effortlessly would surface, unbidden. It was frustrating. Sevika hated losing control, even for a moment, and that damn girl had a way of pulling her strings like a puppeteer.

So, she stayed away. Or at least, she tried. Because as much as she wanted to forget, she couldn't. Babette's was part of her job, and no amount of stubborn avoidance would change that.

And, of course, there were always the whispers in the back of her mind—the ones that wondered what it would be like to let herself give in, just once. To stop fighting the pull. To let Enchantress win whatever game she was playing.

Or even the ones simply asking her to apologize to the young woman for overreacting the way she did. The thought made Sevika grimace. She wasn't one to backtrack on her actions, let alone offer an apology—but, if she was being honest with herself, Enchantress hadn't deserved the way she'd been treated.

The girl hadn't had any intel worth the trouble at the time, and certainly nothing worth the mess Sevika had made of the situation. It wasn't like Sevika didn't know better; she knew how these exchanges were supposed to work. Enchantress's job was to gather information, not bleed herself dry at the beck and call of Silco's every whim.

And yet, Sevika had acted as if the girl's reluctance was some personal offense, rather than what it really was—a smart decision.

But apologizing? That wasn't her style. She could face down rival gangs, fight through shimmer-fueled chaos, and survive the weight of Silco's expectations, but the idea of walking back into Babette's and admitting she was wrong? That felt harder than anything.

Still, the whispers lingered. Maybe it wasn't about the apology itself, but about something deeper. Maybe it was about proving to herself, and to Enchantress, that she could be something other than a blunt instrument wielded in service of Zaun.

But Sevika dismissed those thoughts as quickly as they came. She had bigger things to worry about.

Silco was a strange man. He was what would be best for Zaun, yes. But he was strange nonetheless. For example, his belief that somehow adopting little girls would be the very thing to fix Zaun.

Sevika could tell you right now, Jinx would not be fixing Zaun. The girl had potential, sure—brilliant in her own way, with an inventiveness that bordered on genius—but the bettering of an entire city? No. Not with the chaos she carried in her heart, not with the impulsiveness that constantly threatened to derail even the best-laid plans.

And Aviva? How was someone who had been locked away from the very thing she was meant to protect supposed to even care? Aviva had spent her formative years in shadows, isolated, her every step dictated by Silco's vision. Whatever love or connection she might have felt for Zaun had been replaced with duty, resentment, and the cold embrace of shimmer.

Sevika leaned back against the wall, her arms crossed as she watched the faint glow of Zaun's hex lanterns flicker through the grimy windows of Silco's lair. It wasn't her place to question Silco's decisions. He was the visionary. The one who saw paths to power where others saw only ruin.

But she couldn't help wondering if this particular vision of his—the one where two broken girls would somehow become the saviors of Zaun—was just another one of his peculiar delusions.

Jinx was a storm in human form, all fire and unpredictability. She'd bring destruction before she ever brought progress. And Aviva? Aviva was a blade dulled by captivity, her sharpness buried beneath years of suffering and experimentation. Whatever Silco wanted from her, Sevika doubted it would ever come to fruition.

Still, it wasn't her call to make.

Sevika exhaled sharply, muttering under her breath. "Fixing Zaun... right." She pushed off the wall, adjusting her coat as she headed toward the door. She didn't need to understand Silco's methods. She just needed to play her part.

But as she walked away, the thought lingered: If not them, then who?

She supposed she harbored a shimmer of hope, a tiny, fragile thing that refused to die no matter how many times reality crushed it. Perhaps Jinx would surprise them all. Perhaps Aviva, in her quiet, simmering rage, would find a way to channel it into something productive. Maybe, just maybe, Silco's faith in them wasn't entirely misplaced.

It was wishful thinking, of course, and Sevika knew better than to dwell on it. She'd learned long ago not to expect miracles in Zaun. Yet still, that stubborn flicker of hope clung to her. Perhaps because she'd seen flashes of what could be—moments where Jinx's laughter rang genuine, where Aviva's sharp mind solved problems even Silco hadn't anticipated.

They were just moments, brief and fleeting, but enough to make her wonder. What if?

And maybe that's why she was here now, trudging through the undercity to fetch paint for a fourteen-year-old's latest obsession, when she could be doing something far more useful with her time.

Sevika sighed, adjusting the strap of her satchel. The paint run wasn't about the paint. It was about keeping Jinx occupied, keeping her stable. About playing her part in Silco's strange, unspoken plan to keep his found family together, even if it meant humoring the girl's whims.

She wasn't sure if that made her loyal or just a fool.

𝐎𝐁𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐋𝐘, Enchantress had noticed Sevika's absence, and honestly, she was happy for it. Or at least that's what she told herself.

Not that she didn't miss her. Miss the way Sevika's presence could fill a room, towering and unyielding, her broad shoulders a fortress that Enchantress had often wondered—far too often—what it would feel like to lean on. She missed the way her deep, gravelly voice carried authority, the way her piercing eyes seemed to see through her every facade. She missed the faint, heady scent of smoke and leather that always clung to her, mingled with the faint metallic tang of machine oil from her mechanical arm.

Enchantress hated how much she thought about that scent. It was intoxicating, grounding, and distinctly Sevika.

But Sevika had done something that she wasn't sure she could forgive. Whether it was shame or anger that gnawed at her, Enchantress couldn't quite tell. Maybe it was both.

Enchantress had her pride. She had worked too hard, built too much, and clawed her way too far to be looked down upon by anyone—even someone like Sevika. Enchantress had crafted her entire life around being untouchable. She was glittering, untouchable perfection—a beacon of desire and control, someone who could command the attention of an entire room with just a glance. Being underestimated? Being treated as less than she was worth? That was something she could not, would not, tolerate.

And yet, Sevika had done just that. When Sevika's hand closed around her throat, it wasn't just the physical act that had cut deep—it was what it signified. Sevika hadn't seen her as an equal in that moment. She had looked at her like a tool, a piece in Silco's grand game, something to be bent to her will.

The memory still lingered. Enchantress could feel it if she allowed herself to—Sevika's fingers pressing into her throat, strong and unrelenting. Her pulse had pounded beneath that grip, a rhythm of panic and thrill that she'd never admit to anyone. The sensation had burned itself into her skin, a phantom echo she could still feel if she closed her eyes.

She hated it.

And yet...

There was something in that helplessness that she couldn't quite banish from her mind. It infuriated her, but it also fascinated her. For someone who had built her life on control, who thrived on being the one who held the power, there was something almost intoxicating about being completely at someone else's mercy.

Not that she liked it. Not really. She despised the idea of being vulnerable, of being weak. But in the same way she despised it, she craved it. Perhaps because it was so foreign, so utterly outside the carefully curated persona she had crafted for herself. It was the forbidden—an experience she could touch but never fully embrace.

It was maddening.

Still, even in her absence, Enchantress found herself craving Sevika's presence. That was the worst part. The conflict that brewed inside her, the pull of attraction warring against her pride and self-preservation.

Enchantress sighed, sinking back into the velvet armchair in her dimly lit room, the sweet, floral smoke from her pipe curling around her like a protective veil.

"She's an idiot," she murmured aloud to herself, but the words felt hollow.

Because as much as she told herself she was happy to be free of Sevika's shadow, some part of her—some small, infuriating part—still wanted her to come back. To apologize. To look at her with that same intense gaze and see her not as a tool, not as Silco's pawn, but as Enchantress.

But pride, her ever-present companion, whispered in her ear that she would never let Sevika know that.

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐒!

Going through the world's worst writers block while having 3 books ongoing so forgive me for the late and slow chapter. I rewrote Enchantress's half of the chapter like fifty times and I couldn't properly convey what I wanted so you can basically ignore her part.

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