The rain had just started when she walked in—dripping wet, cloaked, and silent as a ghost.

The bell over the door gave a faint jingle, but no one looked up. The restaurant was nearly empty, just the clatter of chopsticks and the low murmur of rain outside. You were wiping down a table when you felt it—the shift in the air. A presence. You turned.

And there she was.

She took a seat in the far corner, back to the wall, eyes scanning the room like a soldier waiting for an ambush. Her blade was still sheathed but close to her hand. Her hair was damp, clinging to her jaw, and her eyes—icy blue, impossibly intense—locked with yours as you approached.

You swallowed.

“Evening,” you said, voice low. “Can I get you anything to start?”

She didn’t speak right away. Just tilted her head, studying you, as if deciding whether you were a threat… or something else.

“Tea,” she finally said. “Hot. Strong. No talking.”

You nodded and turned away, but you could feel her gaze burning between your shoulder blades the whole time.

Something about her was familiar. Something about her was dangerous. And something in you wanted to know more.