As Freya stepped inside, the pungent smell of smoke, sweat, and cheap liquor assaulted her senses. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dimly lit interior. The room was a chaotic blend of brothel, club, and pub—if such a place could exist. Patrons filled the space, seated at mismatched tables and sagging couches, each absorbed in their own hedonistic pursuits.

A haze of cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air, curling around the low-hanging lamps that flickered with an unreliable yellow glow. To one side of the room, a makeshift bar stood with cracked countertops and shelves crammed with dusty bottles of varying colors. A burly man, his shirt barely...