The sun had already dipped below the jagged skyline of Carmine City by the time Jayden realized his first lead was a dead end. He had checked every part of Frost’s luxury penthouse, only to find it completely empty.

With evening fully settling over the neon-drenched streets, he pivoted to the second location Fred had provided: a secluded, subterranean bar where the pioneer supposedly wound down after her day’s work.

He could have waited for her at the penthouse... after all she would have to come home eventually. But it wouldn’t hurt to check the bar. The sooner he found her, the sooner he can get this over with and go home.

Jayden unequipped his tactical gear in a shadowed alleyway, swapping it for a casual hoodie and jeans. Then he pushed through the heavy, soundproofed doors of the bar, stepping into a dimly lit, smoky room filled with the low hum of jazz and quiet conversation. He scanned the room instantly.

There was no sign of her. She wasn’t here also.

Jayden sighed. Either he’d missed her, or she hadn’t arrived yet. But Fred was certain she came here almost everyday.

Deciding to get some answers, he approached the long mahogany counter. A bar was a hub of information; if anyone knew anything about her whereabouts, it was the man pouring the drinks.

He sat on a stool and caught the bartender’s eye. "A shot of vodka, please." He didn’t want to order a soda in a dive like this and stick out like a sore thumb. Blending in meant playing the part.

The bartender, a burly, bearded man with a genial face, slid a small glass across the counter. Jayden thanked him, lifted the glass, and let the rim touch his lips. He tilted it back slightly, pretending to take a sip without actually letting the burning liquid touch his tongue. He was still adhering to his No Alcohol Consumption principle.

The bartender stopped wiping down a glass and chuckled, leaning against the counter. "I ain’t never seen anyone drink a shot like that, kid. They’re called ’shots’ for a reason. You’re supposed to shoot ’em."

Jayden lowered the glass, offering a smooth, effortless smile. "I don’t like to rush my alcohol. I prefer to take my time... really savor the taste." He stated.

The man barked a loud, hearty laugh. "Savor cheap vodka? You’re a strange one, kid, but I like you already. Drink’s on the house," he said.

"Thanks," Jayden replied. He wasn’t entirely sure how he had just earned the man’s favor, but it made his job infinitely easier. He started with small talk, asking the bartender about how long he’d run the place, expertly steering the conversation toward the clientele. And the man seemed very happy to talk, unknowingly cooperating with Jayden’s indirect interrogation.

"You get a lot of interesting people down here?" Jayden asked casually.

The man sighed, wiping the counter. "Carmine City is a tough place. People come down here to drown their sorrows and forget their problems for a little while. We get all sorts."

Jayden nodded slowly, preparing to subtly describe Frost and carefully bring her into the conversation. But before he could even form the words, the heavy front doors swung open.

Instantly, the ambient temperature in the room plummeted. A literal, biting chill swept through the bar. The low hum of conversation died immediately. Glasses stopped clinking. Everyone froze.

Jayden’s senses flared. A massive, suffocating aura had just entered the room. He turned his head toward the entrance.

Standing there was a strikingly beautiful woman in her late 20s. She was dark-skinned, her jet-black hair tied back into loose, intricate braids. And a silver septum ring glinted under the dim lights. She wore sleek black tactical pants, a crisp white crop top, a black leather jacket, and a pair of high-heeled combat boots. And there, curling ominously up the side of her exposed neck, was the unmistakable tattoo of a coiled serpent.

This was Frost.

She strode casually into the room, her eyes sweeping over the frozen, silent patrons with a cold, piercing intensity. But then, the icy facade shattered entirely.

She threw her head back and let out a bright, booming laugh. "Man, why y’all acting like the Queen of England just walked in the room?"

Instantly the tension snapped. The entire bar collectively exhaled, bursting into laughter and warm greetings:

"Hey, Alaya!"

"Good to see you, girl!"

"How you holding up?"

Patrons reached out to high-five her as she walked past.

Jayden was deeply shocked. This wasn’t the fearful respect a crime syndicate pioneer commanded; this was genuine adoration. She was loved here. She joked with a few regulars, slapping a big guy on the shoulder before making her way over to the counter, taking the stool directly beside Jayden.

As she sat down, her dark eyes flicked to Jayden. A flicker of genuine surprise crossed her features for a microsecond before she smoothly masked it.

"Alaya! Good to see you," the bartender beamed, walking over. "How’s work?"

Frost gave a wry, deeply forced smile that Jayden’s heightened perception caught immediately. "You know how it is, Arnie. Just another day in the meat grinder. Pays the bills, though." The way she said it made it sound like a life sentence.

She tapped the counter. "Pour me my usual whiskey. And pour the kid here another shot."

Arnie chuckled. "Wow. Must be your lucky day, kid." He turned to grab the bottles.

Jayden turned to her. "Thanks, but you really didn’t have to do that. I don’t drink much."

Frost chuckled, a smooth, effortless sound. "That’s what we all tell ourselves, kid," she giggled. "But I insist. It’s a gift from me to you."

Arnie slid the tumbler of amber whiskey to Frost and a fresh shot of clear vodka in front of Jayden. Frost picked up her glass, took a slow, appreciative sip, and then glanced down at the counter. She noticed Jayden’s first, completely full shot glass sitting right next to the new one.

She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, turning to him. "You know, it’s considered rude not to fully accept a gift." She motioned pointedly toward the two shots.

Jayden looked at her, then down at the alcohol. He didn’t like where this was going.

"He told me he likes to drink it slow," Arnie chimed in, grinning from down the bar. "Said he likes to ’savor the taste’."

"Nonsense," Frost scoffed playfully. "They’re called shots for a reason. Tell you what, kid. You down both of those in five seconds, and I’ll give you another gift."

Jayden furrowed his brow, highly suspicious of what a syndicate Pioneer considered a ’gift’.

Frost laughed, her eyes crinkling. "Relax. It’s not another shot. Nor is it alcohol of any kind. Just trust me." She winked.

Jayden exhaled quietly. He had no choice. If he refused now, after already having a full drink in front of him, he would look incredibly suspicious. He had no choice but to go against his principles.

He summoned his willpower, grabbed the first glass, and threw it back. The cheap vodka burned like battery acid down his throat. He suppressed a wince, grabbed the second shot, and downed it just as fast, slamming the glass onto the mahogany.

Frost clapped her hands, laughing brightly. "Atta boy!" She raised her whiskey, downed the entire tumbler in one smooth motion, and tapped the glass for a refill.

She turned her body fully toward Jayden, resting her chin on her hand. "I haven’t seen you around here before. What’s your name?"

Jayden hesitantly answered. "Jay," he said simply.

"Oh, what a simple yet beautiful name," Frost chuckled. "So, tell me Jay. What brings a seventeen-year-old to a place like this?"