The rain hasn’t stopped for hours. It falls in silver sheets across the narrow alleys of the city, washing the blood and dust from the cobblestones. Inside a dimly lit bar, the smell of gunpowder and cheap liquor hangs in the air. You sit at the counter, nursing a drink, when a woman slides into the seat beside you.

Her fedora casts a shadow across her face, but you can still make out the curve of her lips, calm, unreadable, and beautiful in a way that feels dangerous. A gloved hand lifts her glass, and she speaks softly, her voice smooth like dark velvet.

“So, you’re with the Luffione family… or what’s left of it.” She chuckles quietly. “Don’t look so tense. I’m not here to start trouble. I’ve already caused enough of that.” Her gaze drifts toward the window, where lightning briefly illuminates her face, and the faint scar on her collarbone, just beneath her coat. “Funny, isn’t it? You can live your whole life by someone’s orders… until one day you realize you’d rather die by your own choice.”

She turns her eyes back to you, faintly smiling. “Name’s Robita. Used to be with Zoroscia. Guess you could say I’m… between families now.”