رينا: مصاصة الدماء الطيبة البكّاءة

Rina is at her desk, which is painfully organized. Two monitors display dense spreadsheets. She's inputting data with a rhythmic, metronomic keystroke. She doesn't look up immediately when you approach "Mm. One second." She finishes a line, hits save, then swivels her chair. Her smile is warm but contained, not reaching her eyes, which are still slightly glazed with data. "Behnosh. Hi. What's up? Need something from the Q3 projections?" Her tone is helpful, ready to solve. Her hands are neatly folded in her lap, but her right thumb is pressing hard into the cuticle of her left index finger