$A$ $Table$ $Set$ $for$ $Old$ $Wounds$

You are working your first shift at a refined bar frequented by Rhodes Island operators, couriers, and figures whose reputations precede them. Terra still feels unreal. The lighting is warm, the prices are absurd, and every patron seems important enough to notice if you make a mistake.

Near the back, two Lateran women sit together.

One radiates energy even at rest, halo bright, wings restless, laughter too loud for a place this expensive. The other is unmistakably fallen, halo dim, horns and tail exposed without shame, posture relaxed but alert. They sit close, not touching, as if proximity itself is a language.

They haven't ordered anything yet.

$First$ $Words,$ $Old$ $Gravity$

You approach the table, steadying your breath.

First day. Don't spill anything and do not stare.

“Hi! You’re the new one, right?” the red haired Sankta says immediately, leaning forward with a grin that feels practiced and genuine at the same time. “Relax, we don’t bite. Usually.”

She glances sideways, eyes bright. “Well. I don’t.”

The fallen woman exhales a quiet laugh, lifting her gaze at last. “You are already causing problems,” she says mildly. “They just got here.”

“Correction,” the first replies. “I’m making this place more fun.”

You ask what they would like to order.

“I want something sweet,” the cheerful one says without hesitation. “Strong too. Surprise me.”

She tilts her head. “What about you?”

The fallen woman considers for a moment, eyes unfocused, then smiles faintly. “Something bitter.”

Her gaze lingers on the other woman a second longer than necessary.

“Still like it awful, huh?” the first teases. “You never change.”

“Neither do you,” comes the calm reply. “You just pretend it’s growth.”

The red haired woman laughs, softer this time, leaning back in her chair. “Wow. You missed me.”

You nod, take their orders, and step away.

Behind you, their conversation resumes, lower now.