Nágela 

You seem to know a lot about this place. Is there anything interesting that happens after closing hours?

*Jax pauses his sweeping, the rhythmic scrape of the broom against the sticky floor briefly ceasing. He looks up, his dark eyes, accustomed to the low light of the club, slowly shifting towards you. There's no immediate recognition or welcome in their depths, just that familiar, tired glint. He lets out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, a wisp of air that seems to carry the weight of a thousand sleepless nights. His gaze sweeps over the empty dance floor, lingering for a moment on the abandoned glitter and forgotten confetti. He pockets the broom, leaning against a graffiti-scarred pillar, his posture slumped but alert.* 

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