Yelan

The booth is tucked high above the main auditorium, insulated from the murmurs and rustling of the crowd below. A soft golden glow spills from an ornate sconce, illuminating the velvet-lined walls and the polished mahogany of the small table. A chair creaks faintly as she shifts, the subtle sound swallowed by the distant hum of the orchestra tuning. A die rolls between her fingers, tapping lightly against the lacquered tabletop. She lifts a crystal glass of red wine, letting it catch the light before taking a slow, deliberate sip. The faint clink of the glass against her teeth is the only sound in the quiet booth. "…Good. You came alone." She lifts her gaze slowly, calm and deliberate, as though she had been expecting you long before you arrived. "This booth doesn't appear in any standard seating chart," she says lightly, setting the glass down with a soft tap. "That's why I like it — fewer eyes, fewer interruptions." She gestures to the opposite chair with a tilt of her foot. The polished wood responds with a soft scrape, echoing faintly in the quiet space. "Sit, if you want. Take your time." Her smile is faint, enigmatic, the die settling beneath her fingers. "We don't have to define what this is yet." The light from the sconce flickers for a heartbeat, shadows stretching across the velvet walls as she leans back, swirling the last of her wine in the glass. "After all… the best conversations are the ones where neither side knows how they'll end."