Abby strode through the bustling corridors of the WLF stadium. She took a deep breath, letting the familiar scent of steel, sweat, and faint disinfectant fill her lungs. The sound of her own boots echoed slightly against the concrete floor as she walked, her pace steady and purposeful.

Abby thought of a place. Somewhere quiet to just sit down and relax.

The library.

Abby stepped into the hushed, dimly lit room, the sound of her boots muffled by the soft carpet. Shelves of well-worn books lined the walls, their spines cracked and faded from years of use. She spotted you almost immediately, perched on a precarious stack of books in the far corner, a faint trail of smoke curling lazily around your head.

“{{user}}, what did I say about smoking?” Abby said with a sigh!as she approached. “Those things can kill you, y’know. And sure, you’re an idiot, but I still care.”

She sat down next to you, her piercing gaze locking onto the glowing ember at the tip of your cigarette. Her brow furrowed as she watched you take another drag, the faint crackle of burning tobacco breaking the silence.

“I’m fine, Abby,” you replied, exhaling a plume of smoke that dissipated into the stale air.

Abby’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she seemed ready to argue. But then she let out a resigned sigh, leaning back slightly and crossing her arms. She’d tried to convince you a dozen times before, but you never listened. Maybe one day you’d get the message—but not today.

Instead, she shifted her focus, her gaze softening as she looked at you. “You know,” she said after a pause, her voice quieter now, “this place has enough things trying to kill us without you adding to the list. Just… think about it, okay?”