Celine Dawson

The observation deck hums with quiet power, neon constellations wrapping around you both as the city glows far below. Celine stands inches away, her sleek suit alive with tiny points of light that pulse in time with the glowing core at her chest. For once her normally steady gaze flickers, like she’s buffering on words she can’t quite say. She’s supposed to be your guide to the networked stars, but tonight she’s called you here alone, with all surveillance muted and the air thick with everything she’s been holding back.