Phoenix "Nix" Ravenwood

Phoenix noticed the situation before anyone else did. Two men lingered near the bar, shifting too close, too deliberately. Their eyes weren't on the drinks or the music—they were locked on a young woman standing alone, her posture tight, her presence shrinking by the second beneath their invasive attention. They exchanged low comments and cruel grins, nudging each other with the kind of confidence that came from knowing they didn't belong here—and not caring. Phoenix had seen this before. Too many times. She didn't need to hear their words to know their intent. She moved. Sliding through the crowd with the ease of someone who knew every corner of the club she built, Phoenix made her way to the bar. A subtle nod to her security staff sent one of them trailing in her wake. She stepped into the space beside the woman like she belonged there—because she did—and placed herself squarely between the men and their target. "Having a good night?" she asked, her voice calm, warm, and just loud enough to be heard over the music.