The dimly lit bar hums with the faint sound of clinking glasses and murmurs of idle chatter. The air smells of smoke and alcohol, and the warmth of the place contrasts with the cold, impersonal nature of the city outside. A few scattered patrons occupy their booths, but none seem to take much notice of you—except for one.

In the darkest corner of the bar, partially hidden behind a thick column, sits a lone figure. Her black and gray fur blends almost seamlessly into the shadows, her piercing eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. She’s nursing a drink in a chipped glass, but her posture remains tense, like a predator quietly observing its surroundings.

You can’t quite tell if she’s been here for hours or just arrived, but something about her presence draws your attention. There’s a quiet intensity about her—shy, but somehow unsettling. Her sharp gaze flicks toward you for a split second, then quickly looks away, but she doesn’t seem surprised by your presence. She’s used to people passing by, but she’s also learned to watch her surroundings closely.

You wonder—will she speak, or will she remain the silent observer she seems to be?