The Heart System Chapter 532

I parked the car right in front of the bar and climbed out, the chilly wind smacking my face at once. Melvin exited behind me, stuffing his hands deep into his coat pockets while scrambling to keep up. Side by side, we approached the entrance, our boots crunching softly on the pavement.

Sophia stood in her usual spot by the door, rigid like a statue. As I neared her, the bruise on her chin jumped out at me. It was small, but it contrasted sharply with her skin. One of those thugs had clearly landed a lucky blow.

My steps slowed as I got close. Her stance stiffened right away, shoulders drawing tight, gaze fixing on me as if bracing for conflict. She really didn't like me, that much was clear. Not that it mattered to me now.

From up close, she appeared as formidable as always. Buzzcut hair, faded scars tracing her arms, muscles coiled beneath her sleeves. She seemed built to absorb a hit and dish back double the force.

"I’ll keep it short," I said. "Do you know who came here yesterday? The ones who went after Eleanor?"

"Brok," she replied instantly. "Russian. I know him."

"Brok," I echoed, letting the name sink in. "Where can I find him?"

Her eyes narrowed a bit. "You got a death wish?"

"Eleanor’s a close friend," I answered calmly. "Just tell me where he is."

Her glance flicked to Melvin briefly, then returned to me. She exhaled softly. "Pawn shop. Few blocks from here. Name’s ’Kachinka.’"

"I don’t know it yet," I said. "But I will. Thanks."

"What are you planning to do?" she asked.

"Pay him a visit."

"Alone?"

"I’ll manage."

She clicked her tongue. "I’m coming with you, Marlowe."

"Make that three!" Melvin chimed in, flashing a grin like it was a thrilling escapade. "No idea what’s going on, but I’m in!"

I rubbed my face. "Melvin, I can drop you off after this."

"No way, man! I’m staying."

I sighed softly, then glanced back at Sophia. "Is Isabella here?"

She nodded toward the door. "Inside. Messing with the drums."

"Got it. Thanks."

We pushed through the door.

The bar assaulted my senses just like always. Dim lighting, warm orange glows mingling with neon flashes off the bottles lined behind the bar. The air carried scents of booze, smoke, and a subtle sweet undertone. Low music hummed in the background, barely more than a murmur.

My gaze swept the room until it settled on the stage.

There she sat. Isabella. Perched behind the drum kit, bending forward a touch while tweaking the snare. Drum key gripped in her hand, she tapped gently, tuning it by feel. Completely absorbed. Serene. As if the rest of the bar faded away.

Emilia spotted me from behind the counter. Our eyes connected, and she offered a subtle nod.

I elbowed Melvin lightly. "That’s her."

He gulped and nodded fast.

"You know the plan," I went on. "She likes music. Talk about bands, instruments, anything. Just don’t stand there like an idiot."

"I won’t," he mumbled, even though he already seemed on the verge.

"I’ll join you in a minute. Gotta talk to someone first."

"Be quick," he said.

"I will. Go."

He drew a deep breath and headed for the stage, forcing a confident stride. I observed him a moment, then pivoted toward the counter.

As I drew near, a vibrant splash on the wall behind Emilia grabbed my attention. A striking, multicolored sign dangled amid the bottle rows:

HAPPY SHOT!

The letters screamed in bold neon hues, surrounded by playful sketches. Below, finer print declared: "One shot, good mood guaranteed." Yeah... right.

I breathed out quietly and claimed a stool, settling in. "Hey," I said. "You look better."

"Evan," Emilia responded, inhaling lightly. "Yeah. I am. Thanks to you, I guess."

"And Tuck," I noted.

She cocked her head faintly. "Tuck?"

"He helped me find you."

She nodded gradually, as if connecting the dots. "Mm. Right."

I set some bills on the counter and gestured at the sign. "I’ll take one of those. Happy Shot. And get one for yourself too."

She eyed the sign, then met my look with a soft smile. "Bold choice."

She pocketed the cash and spun around, snagging a few bottles. I observed her blend a swift, exact mix, then fill two tiny glasses. The drink held a soft pink hue.

She pushed one my way and held onto the other.

"Cheers," she said.

"Cheers."

We tossed them back together. It scorched mildly on the way down, then bloomed into an odd, cozy sweetness.

I eased back a bit, propping my arm on the counter. Watching her there, composed and everyday— it felt... right. Like for once, things had truly turned in a positive direction.

"Who’s the new guy?" she asked, her eyes flicking toward the stage.

My gaze trailed after hers. Melvin had taken the stage already, chattering away—or fumbling at it. His hands gestured wildly, excessively so. Isabella scarcely glanced over, intent on securing the drum tighter.

"Guy from work," I replied. "He’s into her. I’m trying to help."

A quick laugh escaped Emilia. "That guy? Yeah... not her type."

"I know," I said with a sigh. "Still trying... uh, hey, can I ask something?"

She tilted closer a bit. "What did you want to ask?"

"Were you here yesterday?" I questioned. "When those guys showed up?"

Her head shook. "No. Charlotte told me about it though. Sounds bad. Poor Eleanor."

"Yeah," I muttered.

Another look back revealed Melvin floundering. He spoke, hesitated, started over. Isabella tossed a brief reply without lifting her eyes, then returned to the drums.

My head shook faintly.

"Alright," I declared, sliding off the stool. "Time to save him."

Emilia offered a subtle smile. "Good luck."

"Yeah. I’ll need it. See ya."

"Yup."

With a quick nod to her, I pivoted and headed for the stage.