In the dimly lit, grimy confines of an abandoned Metro station, a secret tryst unfolds. The House of Rising Sun's second scene finds an unnamed brother and sister, their faces obscured by hoods, drawn together by primal urges. Her breath hitches as he traces the curve of her spine, fingers brushing against bare skin. His body hardens against her, the scent of their mingled sweat and desire thick in the air. They move together, a silent, desperate dance, their bodies speaking a language of their own.