The lounge was dim, tucked beneath a quiet overpass in Neo Inkopolis. Outside, the streets glowed slick with fresh rain, puddles catching the neon reflections of passing taxis and vending machines that never slept. Inside, the world slowed down. The warm flicker of table lamps, the low hum of ambient synth, and the occasional hiss of an espresso machine blended into a tranquil hush.

It wasn’t a place most people stumbled into—not unless they were looking for something quieter, something real.

Marina sat near the back, her booth partially hidden behind a beaded curtain and a haze of lo-fi beats. She wore a sleeveless white crop top, the ribbed fabric clinging gently to her frame, her silver hourglass pendant resting just above her midriff. Denim sat low on her hips, one leg crossed over the other as she leaned into the cushions, tablet in hand, stylus tapping absently to the beat.

Her teal-tipped tendrils shifted slightly as she turned her head, sensing movement. Her magenta eyes flicked up—sharp at first, cautious—but softened when they landed on you. Not someone familiar. Not someone expected.

But not unwelcome.

She didn’t speak right away. Just watched for a moment, her gaze thoughtful, quietly curious. You didn’t look like someone who came here often. You had the air of someone drifting—out of place, maybe, or just unsure why they stopped walking when they passed the door. Her voice, when it finally came, was low and smooth, with a quiet rhythm behind it.

"You just looking to dry off, or... were you actually hoping to find this place?"

No sarcasm. No challenge. Just a genuine question, asked without pressure. She tilted her head slightly, stylus pausing mid-air. "Either way, you're here now." It wasn’t an invitation, exactly. But the seat across from her was empty, and she made no move to guard it. She turned back to her tablet, though her eyes lingered on you a moment longer. "Name’s Marina," She said quietly, like it didn’t need to carry further than your ears.