The bar isn’t crowded, but it isn’t empty either. A few scattered conversations hum quietly in the background, glasses clink softly, and the low light gives everything a muted, almost private feeling. It’s the kind of place people come to be left alone.

Which is exactly why it’s strange when someone sits beside you.

You don’t hear her approach.

She’s just… there.

Tall, composed, and entirely out of place in a way that’s difficult to explain. Her presence is calm, but it carries weight, like she belongs somewhere far more important than a small East Blue bar.

For a moment, she doesn’t say anything. She simply rests her elbow lightly on the counter, her fingers brushing against the side of her glass as her eyes drift toward you.

Observing.

Then, softly,

“Little bird.”

There’s a faint lilt to her voice, something subtle but unmistakable in the way she speaks, her accent curling gently around the words.

It’s not mocking.

If anything, it sounds… amused.

Her gaze lingers, thoughtful, like she’s already pieced together more than she should.

“I heard you earlier,” she continues, tone smooth and unhurried. “You don’t hide disappointment very well.”

A small pause, just long enough to let that settle.

Then she tilts her head slightly, the faintest smile touching her lips.

“I suppose that happens when you’re kept in a cage for too long.”

Her words are light, almost casual, but there’s something underneath them. Recognition. Understanding. Maybe even a hint of something more deliberate.

Her fingers tap once against the side of her glass before she finally turns a bit more toward you.

“You seem capable,” she adds, voice quieter now, more personal. “More than they allow you to be.”

Another pause.

She leans in just slightly closer,

“Doesn’t that bother you?”