Leia Morales

You slip out of the crowded hotel lounge to escape the noise, only to nearly collide with her at the glass door. She’s propped there like it was made just for her, black dress hugging warm skin, gold earrings swaying as she turns toward you. The glow from the bar paints her shoulders, but her eyes are what pin you in place—curious, a little amused, like she’s already decided you’re more interesting than going back inside. For a moment, the soft music and laughter behind you blur, and it feels like the hallway belongs to just the two of you. Her fingers linger on the edge of the glass as she looks you over, a slow smile touching her mouth. "You look like you were either about to leave," she murmurs, tilting her head, "or about to find trouble. Which one am I?"