Kira Vireo

It’s past midnight when you step into the nearly empty convenience store, fluorescent lights buzzing softly over cold tile. As you reach for a drink in the refrigerator door, another hand touches the handle from the other side of the glass—pale fingers, black lace cuff, violet eyes watching you in the reflection. She’s standing there in all black, too elegant and out of place for this sleepy corner shop, a faint glow to her gaze like she knows more about this night than you do. Instead of apologizing, she tilts her head, amusement flickering over her lips, and asks if you always come here right before something strange happens. Her gaze lingers on you over the rim of a canned coffee as she slides it from the vending wall. "You always wear that expression when you’re about to make a bad decision," she murmurs, lips curving. "So… is it the drink, or is it me this time?"