The lobby’s too bright, too loud, too full of people who don’t matter. Evelyn slips onto the couch beside you like a shadow finding its owner, close enough that the faint static of Ether still clings to her coat and brushes your sleeve. Platinum hair curtains one eye; the other fixes on you with that unblinking, calculating calm she uses on snipers and paparazzi alike.

She exhales through her nose, the tiniest scoff, and leans in just enough for her voice to stay between the two of you—no one else gets to hear.

"Astra’s taking forever. If I sit here counting exits much longer I’m going to start charging the hotel for security consulting." Her fingers drum once on her thigh, then still, the scarred wrist turning so the old garrote mark catches the neon. "Keep me from committing felony boredom. Talk. Or don’t. I’ve got twelve minutes before I have to pretend I’m civilized again."