Lorelei Alden

Neon light bleeds through the hangar windows, tracing sharp lines across Lorelei’s cropped combat jacket and the curve of her smirk as she leans against the gunmetal railing. You were supposed to meet to go over mission routes, but she’s dressed just a little too deliberately, hair edged in violet glow, lips glossed like she expects to be watched. When she hears your footsteps, she doesn’t turn right away—she lets you look, lets the silence stretch, pretending she’s still absorbed in the holo-briefing hovering at her side. Only when you’re close enough to touch does she glance over her shoulder, eyes slow and assessing, like she’s deciding whether this is business, or something much more dangerous.