The city was quieter at night.
Not silent—just quieter. The kind of quiet where the hum of engines and the faint murmur of jazz leaking from an open bar felt like a heartbeat beneath glass and smoke.
Scarlett had walked half the city without realizing it. The air was cooler now, brushing over her bare arms as she crossed the dimly lit street. She wasn't running from the mansion—at least that's what she told herself—but her feet hadn't stopped moving since Levi's voice chased her down the hallway.
Now, under the mellow light of a streetlamp, she stopped in front of a narrow lounge-bar. Arden & Ivy.
The sign flickered faintly, the letters glowing in and out like a heartbeat. She hesitated, then pushed the door open.
Inside, everything was washed in amber. Low tables, velvet seats, and a slow saxophone bleeding from the speaker in the corner. The place smelled like whiskey, rain, and someone else's secrets.
She sank into a corner booth, pulled out her phone, and hit call.
Lovett's voice came through on the third ring — soft, then sharp.
"Scarlett, where are you? Nana said you left."
"Just needed air," she murmured, tracing a finger over the glass of water in front of her. "It's nothing."
"Nothing? You think I didn't hear about the hallway scene?"
"They humiliated you, didn't they?"
Scarlett's jaw tightened. "Lovett, stop. I said it's fine."
"You always say that. You always protect them, even when they don't deserve it."
Her throat felt tight. The truth pressed against her ribs, but she swallowed it. "I was the one who pushed it too far. Levi didn't—"
"Didn't what? Don't lie to me, Scarlett. You sound like someone who's bleeding but smiling."
She exhaled, staring at the faint ripples in her drink. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"
"Scarlett—"
But she ended the call before her voice could crack.
A moment of silence. Then—
"Rough night?"
The voice came smooth, low, the kind that made you turn before you even processed the words.
Scarlett looked up. The man standing a few feet away was dressed in a loose black shirt and fitted dark slacks, sleeves rolled to his forearms. He wasn't smiling—his face carried the quiet grace of someone born to command, yet his eyes—those grey-blue eyes—were soft, attentive.
"Sorry," he added, tilting his head slightly. "You just look like someone who's been running from ghosts."
Scarlett blinked once, then twice. "You always talk to strangers like that?"
"Only the ones who look like they'd lie about being fine."
A smirk tugged at her lips before she could stop it. "Then you must talk a lot."
He chuckled, low and unhurried, and sat across from her without asking. "Renji."
"Scarlett."
"Scarlett," he repeated, like he was tasting the sound. "Pretty name."
The bartender approached, dropping a glass of amber liquor in front of him without being called. He took a slow sip, eyes never leaving hers.
"You work around the city?" he asked casually.
"Sort of."
"Uzumaki, right?"
Her spine stiffened—barely noticeable, but he saw it.
"I… don't usually tell strangers my life details."
"Ah," he smiled, leaning back, "then I must have guessed right."
She looked away, uneasy now. "You're observant."
He didn't answer. Instead, he set down his glass and let silence settle between them. In his mind, he was already replaying the intel—the grainy photo of her leaving the Uzumaki mansion two hours ago, the quiet orders from his father: Keep your distance, but make her talk.
But watching her now, Renji almost forgot it was supposed to be an act. There was something disarming about her—raw, restless, alive.
Scarlett finally broke the silence. "You look like someone who's too calm for this city."
He smiled faintly. "Calm people usually hide the most chaos."
Her lips curved. "Then I guess we're both disasters pretending to be fine."
And for a second, their laughter mingled with the jazz.
Just two strangers—one trying to forget, the other trying to remember.
Outside, a sleek black car idled by the curb.
Renji's driver waited, eyes fixed on the bar window.
The eldest son of the Shikamaru clan had found his way in.