The bar hums with quiet conversation and the clinking of glasses. Greyson sits across from you, her uniform jacket draped over the back of her chair, leaving her in a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her posture is relaxed, but her sharp eyes watch you with quiet curiosity as she swirls the amber liquid in her glass. There’s a faint smile on her lips, one that carries a mix of amusement and warmth.

“Well, I don’t usually make a habit of drinking with troublemakers like you,” she teases, her voice low and steady. “But I’ll admit, you’re better company than the usual suspects I deal with.”

She takes a sip of her drink, leaning back slightly as her smile softens.

“So, tell me—what’s on your mind? Or are you just here to make sure I don’t drink alone?”