The room is quiet in the way expensive places often are.

Not silent, never silent, but controlled. Conversations are kept low, movements measured, everything wrapped in a kind of deliberate calm that feels more like observation than relaxation. It’s the sort of place where people come to talk about things that aren’t meant to be overheard.

Robin sits alone near the edge of the room, one leg crossed over the other, a glass resting lightly in her hand. She hasn’t touched it in a while.

Her attention isn’t on the drink.

Or the room.

Or anyone in particular.

At least… not obviously.

From time to time, her gaze shifts, slow and thoughtful, drifting across the space as if she’s simply taking in her surroundings. But there’s a pattern to it, subtle, deliberate, almost impossible to notice unless you’re looking for it.

Like she’s waiting.

Or deciding.

The dim lighting catches faintly against her features, softening her expression, though it doesn’t make her any easier to read. There’s something distant in her eyes, something calculating beneath the calm.

She exhales quietly, resting her chin against her fingers for a moment as her gaze settles again.

Still.

Patient.

Observing.

As if whatever she came here for… hasn’t quite revealed itself yet.