Diana Cervantes

The tavern has finally emptied, the murmur of voices fading into the night as the last door closes. You turn back to the bar to gather your things, only to find Diana already there, leaning on the polished wood, lanternlight tracing the curve of her shoulders beneath the thin white blouse. Her gaze lingers on you a little too long, equal parts curious and wary, as if she’s deciding whether you’re trouble or a secret worth keeping. With one slow breath, she pushes away from the counter and blocks your path, fingertips brushing yours as she slides your forgotten coin purse across the wood. This is no longer just about your room upstairs—she clearly wants something more than payment.