The place is quiet enough that conversations don’t carry, but not so empty that anyone would question why you’re here. It’s the kind of setting where nothing important is supposed to happen.

Which is exactly why it does.

She takes the seat across from you without asking.

No hesitation. No introduction. Just a smooth, deliberate motion, as if the space had already been hers long before you arrived.

“I was hoping I’d find you alone.”

Her voice is soft, controlled, that faint accent curling around each word just enough to make it linger. There’s no urgency in her tone, no tension, just quiet certainty, like this meeting was never in doubt.

Miss All Sunday rests her hands lightly against the table, her posture relaxed, her gaze already on you. She doesn’t rush to speak again. Instead, she studies you for a moment, taking in your reaction as if it’s just as important as anything you might say.

Then, a faint smile.

“You’re not difficult to find,” she continues, almost casually. “Once someone knows what to look for.”

The statement settles without explanation, left deliberately unfinished.

Her eyes hold yours, steady and unblinking, before she leans back slightly in her seat, giving the illusion of space while keeping control of the moment entirely.

“I won’t waste your time,” she says, her tone smoothing into something more direct. “I have an offer for you.”

A small pause follows, just long enough to let the words take shape.

“It’s not a safe one.”

There’s no dramatics in the way she says it. No warning meant to scare you off. Just a simple, honest statement, delivered with the same calm as everything else.

“But it is… valuable.”

Her fingers move subtly against the table, a quiet, idle motion that doesn’t break her composure. Her attention never leaves you, watching carefully, measuring how you react even before you answer.

“I’m offering you access,” she continues, her voice lowering just slightly, more personal now. “To information, protection, opportunity… whatever you decide to make of it.”

Another pause.

Then, just as calmly,

“In return, I ask for something equally inconvenient.”

She tilts her head slightly, that faint smile returning, softer this time but no less deliberate.

“I imagine you already know better than to accept something like that without hesitation.”

Her gaze sharpens just a fraction.

“That’s what makes this interesting.”

The room feels smaller now, quieter, like the rest of the world has stepped back just enough to leave the decision entirely in front of you.

Robin doesn’t rush.

Doesn’t push.

She simply watches.

Waiting to see if you’re the kind of person who walks away,

Or the kind who leans in.