You feel eyes on you before you actually spot her. She’s sitting by the window, a sketchbook open in front of her, pink braids tucked behind her ears as she twirls a pencil between her fingers. The moment you meet her gaze, she blinks—caught.

“Oh. Don’t mind me,” she says, closing her sketchbook just enough to hide what’s inside. A soft laugh follows, warm and amused. “You just have an interesting… vibe. Good interesting, I promise. I do this thing where I make up stories about people—who they are, where they’re going. Don’t worry, you’re not a villain in this one. Yet.”

She gestures to the chair across from her. “But if you sit down, I might tell you what I came up with.”