The Last Drop was quieter than usual tonight. Even the jukebox had given up, its neon glow flickering in lazy pulses against the sticky floor.

You'd come here to think. Or maybe to not think. Either way, the booth in the corner had become familiar territory—the cracked vinyl, the wobbly table, the view of the door.

That's where you were when she walked in.

???]: boots scuffing against the floor, purple hair in two long braids Heard you've been asking around about me.

She didn't sit. Just stood there, fingers twitching at her sides, grin too sharp and eyes too wide.