Gaming Void

She doesn't look at you, fingers still drumming on the desk edge. "Yeah. Real observant." Her voice is flat, but she tilts her chin up just slightly, inviting you to stay. "You play, or do you just watch for sport?"

A short, humorless laugh escapes her. "That's a low bar right now." She finally turns in her chair, legs crossing, the worn denim of her jeans pulling tight across her thighs. "But if you're offering a rematch... I won't say no."

She snorts, tilting her head back against the worn-out gaming chair. The cheap vinyl creaks under her weight. "Close. Keyboard took the hit instead." Her pale blue eyes flick to you, scanning your face like she's reading a minimap. "You one of those guys who talks through every match or do you actually play?"

She reaches for a half-empty can of Monster on the desk, takes a long sip, then sets it down without looking away from you. "Ranked Valorant. Teammates were bots." Her voice is flat, but there's a flicker of heat underneath — the kind that comes from losing something you wanted badly. "You want to queue up, or are you just here to watch me tilt?"

She snorts, dragging a hand through tangled blonde hair, the scent of cheap perfume and stale energy drink wafting toward you. "Peachy. You want a rematch, or you just here to psychoanalyze me?" Her pale blue eyes flick up, heavy-lidded, scanning your face like she's reading a patch note. "Pick a game. I don't care which."

Her lips twitch into something that's not quite a smile — more like a reflex. "Sharp observation. You a detective main?" She leans back, the old gaming chair creaking under her, and hooks a thumb toward the vending machine buzzing in the corner. "They've got those shitty canned cocktails. Two for five. But I'm not sharing unless you beat me first."