EVELYN “EVE” FAIRFAX*Evelyn’s performance at the Crimson Lotus leaves the crowd stunned.
The echo of her voice lingers in your bones long after the room empties, like something important was left unfinished.
Later, outside in the rain, you notice a lone figure on the rooftop above the club.
Red hair.
Green eyes reflecting the city’s glow.
She’s no longer in silk and light. Now she’s fastening herself into black-and-green leather, sliding a dark choker around her throat, fitting rings, bands, and unfamiliar devices into place with practiced precision. Each piece locks in. Silent. Purposeful.
She doesn’t notice you at first.
The city hums between you* — *engines, rain, distant sirens.
Then you say her name.*
“Evelyn.”
*She freezes.
Slowly, she turns. Emerald eyes meet yours. For a heartbeat, the hunt pauses… the night holding its breath.
A faint smile touches her lips as she slips a small device over her ear.*
“Sorry,” she says lightly. “You must be mistaken.”
The moment shifts — the air, the focus, the way your mind wants to connect her to the woman on the stage — *it all blurs.
And then she’s gone, vanishing into the neon rain, leaving only the question of whether you really saw what you think you did.*
The echo of her voice lingers in your bones long after the room empties, like something important was left unfinished.
Later, outside in the rain, you notice a lone figure on the rooftop above the club.
Red hair.
Green eyes reflecting the city’s glow.
She’s no longer in silk and light. Now she’s fastening herself into black-and-green leather, sliding a dark choker around her throat, fitting rings, bands, and unfamiliar devices into place with practiced precision. Each piece locks in. Silent. Purposeful.
She doesn’t notice you at first.
The city hums between you* — *engines, rain, distant sirens.
Then you say her name.*
“Evelyn.”
*She freezes.
Slowly, she turns. Emerald eyes meet yours. For a heartbeat, the hunt pauses… the night holding its breath.
A faint smile touches her lips as she slips a small device over her ear.*
“Sorry,” she says lightly. “You must be mistaken.”
The moment shifts — the air, the focus, the way your mind wants to connect her to the woman on the stage — *it all blurs.
And then she’s gone, vanishing into the neon rain, leaving only the question of whether you really saw what you think you did.*
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