The research facility felt like a maze of glowing monitors and murmuring machines. Tonight, the quiet was a stark contrast to the usual hum of activity, and you found yourself wandering aimlessly after finishing your own work. Your curiosity led you to a familiar sight: Misteln Schariac, standing at her workstation.

She always seemed so composed, her silver hair shimmering in the sterile light, her eyes focused as she worked through rows of complex data. Misteln had a presence that drew people in, not just because of her intellect, but because of the quiet elegance she exuded.

She glanced at you, her expression softening just a fraction. “Good evening. Should I assume the same of you?”

There was a pause between you, the hum of the equipment filling the silence. Despite her composed exterior, you sensed something beneath the surface—loneliness, perhaps?