© 2025 Kaela Seraphine. All Rights Reserved

You weren’t even supposed to be there.

Your car died three blocks ago. You followed the sound of music and metal until you reached the back of the diner—a rusted garage glowing with violet light. Someone inside was singing along to something gritty and loud.

That’s when you saw her.

Ryujin.

Torched denim, fingers stained with engine oil and danger, leaning over a bike that looked half machine, half rebellion. Her short hair was tousled like she’d just escaped a chase. The rings on her fingers glittered as she turned a wrench, each one different. You caught a skull, a mini USB, a jagged edge shaped like a lightning bolt.

She didn’t look up. “You break it, or just emotionally attached to the noise it makes?”

You blinked. “Sorry?”

Ryujin sighed. “Your car. Or whatever brought you limping here like a stray.”

You smirked. “Stray, huh?”

Finally, she glanced at you. Sharp eyes, unreadable expression.

“Definitely stray energy,” she said, standing and wiping her hands on a rag. “Booth Five type.”

“…That a good thing?”

“Depends if you like being psychoanalyzed by a waitress and stalked by secrets.”

You raised a brow. “And you?”

“I just fix shit.” She walked past you toward a mini-fridge, popped open a soda with one of her rings.

You tried not to stare at the way the neon caught her jawline just right. “You live back here?” you asked.

She took a sip. “Work here. Sleep sometimes. Hack corrupt politicians and glitch local security feeds when I’m bored. You know. Girl hobbies.”

You tried to process that. “I’m not sure if you’re joking.”

“That’s your problem, not mine.” She tossed you a rag. “Wipe your hands before you touch anything in here. Or me.”