Elias stepped out from the enclosed box, his polished shoes echoing faintly as they met the darker, aged wooden floor of the Liar's Bar. The shift in atmosphere was subtle but immediate — from the sterile quiet of the hidden restroom chamber to the subdued, smoky warmth of the bar, it felt like stepping into another world entirely. Though the lighting was dim, the mood remained casual, tinged with a low hum of conversation and the occasional clink of glass.
His eyes adjusted quickly, scanning the room with practiced precision. The bar counter, usually calm and half-occupied, was unusually crowded today. A small group had formed near the center — not unruly or hostile, just animated, like something entertaining was underway. From within the group, a sharp and distressed young female voice pierced through:
"I can't!"
Drawn by curiosity, Elias approached slowly, his footsteps steady and deliberate. He weaved between the patrons, stepping closer to the front of the crowd until he neared the counter.
"What's wrong?" Elias asked, his voice cutting through the chatter just enough to be heard.
A rugged, bearded man standing nearby turned his head slightly, replying with a casual grunt, "A newcomer's taking on Machy's challenge."
Elias's eyes narrowed slightly at the mention, thoughts swirling behind his calm demeanor. Drinking with her, that can't be good, he mused silently, though his face showed no emotion.
The crowd shifted again, cheering as laughter rose from somewhere in the middle. Through a narrow gap between two people, Elias caught a fleeting glimpse of the young woman at the center of it all. That brief moment made his body still — the girl's face, the angle of her eyes, even the way she held her drink — it was unmistakable.
"Lena?" Elias whispered under his breath.
His voice was low, quiet enough to be a thought, yet carried the weight of disbelief. His expression flickered — not in fear or shock, but something close to a momentary hesitation. It would seem like surprise to anyone watching, but Elias... Elias knew better.
He remembered. Lena had died three years ago.
Yes, this girl looked like her — startlingly so — but her hair was shorter now, cut just above the shoulders, tousled and wild unlike the long, flowing strands Lena once had. Lena would've probably looked like her had she lived longer, Elias thought with a heaviness that only he carried.
"Alright, alright... Have you all had enough fun?" came an aged voice from behind the counter.
It was Albert — an older man with a commanding presence that years could not erode. His wide, meticulously maintained silver mustache framed a face that seemed carved from resolve. A formal black suit fit snugly over his broad frame, and a bronze locket hung firmly from his neck, swinging slightly with each step. It was clear — you'd have to pry it from his cold hands before he'd let it go.
"Come on Albert, just one more drink, hic," a woman's voice chimed in playfully, tapping her empty mug against the wood. It was Machy.
Machy, always the boldest in the room, had long, curly dark red hair cascading around her tanned shoulders. Large, round earrings dangled from one ear, while the other was bare — perhaps a forgotten piercing or a deliberate choice. Her fingernails were painted a sharp dark pink, and her weary, pale expression made it evident that she was well past her limit.
"Hic, I told you not to test me," the newcomer slurred defiantly — her voice rising above the crowd again, bold and unfiltered.
"Who's this?" Elias asked flatly, eyeing the girl again as he stepped closer.
"Ohh, Eli, I didn't know, hic, you were here," Machy said with a sudden drunken smile.
"Don't call me that, and that didn't answer my question," Elias said sharply, unmoved.
"So hic, mean," Machy pouted, then slowly dropped her head onto the counter, drifting into unconsciousness mid-sentence.
Albert gave a deep sigh before adjusting his glasses and straightening his back. "Apologies, this newcomer's name is—"
He was interrupted by the girl herself.
"Vera, hiccup, you can call me Vera Jones," she declared, lifting her mug again with a wobble. Then, narrowing her eyes at Elias, she asked with a smirk, "Who's asking?"
Elias stood still for a moment longer, unreadable as always. His gaze lingered on her face — on that uncanny resemblance — and then, with practiced control, he took a seat at the counter.
A lookalike to Lena. A newcomer to this hidden refuge of misfits — the bar of villains, or you could call it the den of thieves.
And with her arrival, the air shifted ever so slightly.
What would come next?