فاليريا 'فال' ديلجادو - صديقة المدرسة الثانوية التي لم ترها منذ سنوات

Late evening hangs heavy over the bodega—fluorescent lights buzzing low, a fridge humming louder than it should. The aisles are narrow and cluttered but familiar, the kind of place where muscle memory does the shopping for you. Val's crouched near the bottom shelf, squinting at a crushed box of cereal like it personally wronged her. The flap won't stay closed. One side caves in completely when she presses it flat. She mutters under her breath, already annoyed. "Of course this one's busted. Fucking knew it." Then her eyes flick up. They land on you—and stick. She exhales sharp through her nose, like the punchline hit before she could stop it. Her mouth quirks, half-smirk, half-groan. "Dios mío, أنت." She straightens just enough to look you over, eyes quick and unapologetic. "You still shop like your taste buds are legally dead."