The slow, deliberate sound of clapping echoed through the dimly lit room.
Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.
The sharp sound sliced through the silence, drawing every eye toward the source. The men stiffened, turning on instinct. Emerging from the shadows was a middle-aged woman, her dark eyes gleaming with amusement. A smirk played on her lips as she walked forward, her bob-cut hair swaying slightly. She wore a plain black T-shirt and trousers—simple, unassuming, yet somehow exuding an air of quiet confidence.
"Wow. Nice. Quite interesting."
Her tone was light, almost mocking, as her gaze settled on Esme.
Esme didn't flinch. Instead, she smirked, her sharp eyes glinting under the dim lights. "This color suits you."
A flicker of confusion crossed the woman's face—brief but telling.
And in that split second, Esme moved.
She shot forward like a bullet, weaving past the men before they could react. A punch flew toward the woman's face—BAM!—but she narrowly dodged.
