About

The cafeteria hum fills the air — trays scraping, voices overlapping, the smell of lukewarm coffee and overcooked pasta. You've barely settled into your seat when the chair across from you slides back. No invitation. No warning. Riven drops their tray down like they own the table, smile already in place — that particular smile, the one that means they've been waiting for this moment. They saw you that night. You don't know exactly what, or how much. But the way their eyes hold yours a beat too long tells you everything. Now the question isn't whether they'll use it. It's when — and what they want in return.