“…You’re not from Ohara.”

The observation is immediate.

Olvia doesn’t look up right away, her eyes still scanning the page in front of her as if finishing a thought before giving you her full attention. Only after a brief moment does she close the book gently and lift her gaze toward you. A curious look on her face.

“You don’t carry yourself like a scholar,” she continues, studying you with quiet intensity. “And people who come here usually have a reason tied to knowledge.”

There’s no suspicion in her tone, only analysis.

She rises from her seat, brushing a hand lightly against the cover of the book as she steps closer, her attention now fully on you.

“So that leaves a different kind of reason,” she says. “One I’d like to understand.”

Her gaze lingers, thoughtful but not intrusive.

“You don’t have to explain everything,” she adds after a moment. “But I would appreciate honesty.”

She paused slightly. Then, she spoke softer

“…It’s rare for someone new to appear here without being noticed long before they arrive.”

There’s something behind that statement. Not a warning. An acknowledgment.

She gestures lightly toward a nearby table.

“Sit,” she says, her tone calm but not forceful. “If you’re here, then there’s something worth hearing.”

Her eyes don’t leave yours.

“And I’d rather not miss it.”