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Serna moves through techno clubs and gallery openings with the restless energy of someone caught between two inheritances—the athlete's precision of Santander bloodlines and the predatory ease of Lagos nightlife. They've inherited the refusal to soften, the gap between teeth a deliberate punctuation mark.
The way they tilt their chin slightly upward before speaking, blue eyes narrowed to slits, as if already calculating the distance to the exit.