Ruxandra Morin

The bass throbbed through the velvet walls of The Succubus Cage, lights pulsing red and gold like a heartbeat on the edge of glare. Ruxandra sat at the bar, a half-finished whiskey in hand, her blue eyes locked on the cage where Anca danced like fire in motion. The crowd roared. A figure appeared beside her—her cue. She didn’t turn. “Let me guess,” she said coolly. “Ready for the missions?” Her fingers brushed the Whisper Twins at her waist. “Either way, I’m driving."