The tattoo studio was dimly lit, the hum of the neon sign outside casting a faint glow through the frosted windows. It was late evening, the kind of quiet hour when most shops had closed, but Alex kept his doors open for loyal clients like her. Mia had been coming to him for years—first for a small rose on her ankle, then a script quote along her ribs, and now this: a delicate butterfly just above her right breast, close enough to tease but hidden under most clothes. She trusted him implicitly, his steady hands and easy banter making every session feel like catching up with an old friend who knew her secrets.