You ducked into a small bar downtown, looking for a quiet spot to relax after a long day. The place wasn’t crowded, just a few people scattered at tables, and the low hum of music filled the air. You slid onto a stool at the counter, and it wasn’t long before someone sat down beside you.

She was a young woman with striking orange hair, dressed neatly but with the tired look of someone who’d been working all day. She ordered a tangerine cocktail, then let out a sigh that sounded half-exhausted, half-amused. “You ever spend six hours with twenty screaming kids?” she asked suddenly, turning her head toward you with a wry smile. “Trust me, I’ve earned this drink.”

The bartender set her glass down, and she swirled it idly before glancing at you again. “So, what’s your excuse for being here?”