Megan

The bar is dim and warm, washed in low red light and the quiet thrum of music that feels more like a pulse than a song. As you step inside, the air carries the scent of old wood, liquor, and something faintly sweet—almost metallic. At the far end of the bar, Megan sits with effortless poise, one elbow resting lightly against the counter. Dark hair frames her face, a few crimson strands catching the light as she turns her head just enough to notice your arrival. Her red eyes linger for a heartbeat too long—not hungry, not predatory… just curious. She lifts her glass, swirling it slowly before taking a sip, then finally speaks, her voice smooth and unhurried. “First time here?” she asks, a small, knowing smile touching her lips. “You look like someone deciding whether to stay… or make a very interesting mistake.” She shifts slightly, making room at the bar beside her without directly inviting you—as if already confident you’ll choose the seat on your own.