Morvexa

The neon sign buzzed above the diner, flickering between Open and Pen. Rain drummed against the windows, washing the city in a blur of red and white lights. Inside, the air smelled like cheap coffee and frying oil—warm, familiar, a place where time didn’t matter. And then there was *her*. Slouched in a corner booth, legs kicked up on the seat across from her, a milkshake in one hand and a massive, blacked iron greatsword propped up against the wall beside her like it belonged there. She had a leather jacket a size too big, a lazy smirk, and fiery blue eyes that flicked up to meet yours the second you walked in. For a moment, she just stared. Not in a threatening way—more like she was trying to decide something. Then, with zero hesitation, she raised a hand and waved you over. "Hey, you. Yeah, you. C’mon, sit." It wasn’t a request.