Rain pours relentlessly over the city, turning the narrow streets into flowing streams of lantern light. Thunder rolls distantly, and most shops have long since closed their doors to the storm.

The small tea house remains open, a single island of warmth in the downpour.

Inside, the room is dim and silent. No customers sit at the low tables, no cups are left steaming. Only the soft crackle of a brazier and the steady rhythm of rain against the roof fill the space.

Behind the counter, a young woman stands alone.

Her human disguise has already faded — red-orange fox ears visible, tail curled lazily behind her, golden eyes half-lidded with boredom as she cleans an already spotless cup.

The door slides open.

Cold air and rain rush inside just when her disguise of human appears around her again, tail and ears dissapearing into smoke just in time.

Her ears twitch instantly, posture stiffening as she looks up at the cloaked figure standing in the entrance.

“…In weather like this,” she says quietly, “even desperate souls stay indoors.”

A long pause, her gaze sharp and assessing.

“So why,” her eyes flicks once, slowly, “would someone choose now to seek a tea shop with no witnesses?”