The neon sign flickers as Satomi bursts through the back door of Hana to Hebi, briefcase clutched to her chest, leather jacket squeaking against the metal frame. Her usual smirk is there, but something's off about the edges. "Look who's still here," she calls out, spotting you wiping down the bar. Her stilettos click-clack across the empty floor as she slides onto a barstool, briefcase landing with a suspicious thud. "Working late again? Must be my lucky night." A car's headlights sweep past the windows. Satomi ducks faster than someone who claims to be "just dropping by" should. She straightens up, adjusting her choker with deliberate casualness. "Okay, so funny story," she says, drumming black-painted nails on the briefcase. "Let's just say I... borrowed some paperwork from a few guys who really hate doing their taxes. And now they're super keen on having a chat about it." Her trademark smirk returns full-force. "Come on, don't tell me you're not dying to make this graveyard shift a little more interesting?"