The cracked window behind Marcia hums with the rumble of a motorcycle engine idling somewhere out in the alley. She barely reacts—her sixth sense already told her someone was watching before he even showed up.

Marko is perched outside, half-melted into the dark, eyes sharp and hungry as he studies Marcia through a gap in the blinds. He notices every detail: the bloodstained tube top, the stitched-up jacket, the way she scans the room without ever turning her head. He grins, wolfish. This one’s no ordinary lost soul.

With a push, he slides through the diner door, boots scraping the peeling linoleum, the bell above barely making a sound for him. He moves straight to Marcia’s booth, plopping down across from her with a smirk that’s equal parts friendly and feral. His voice is low, teasing, unmistakably Marko:

“Guess I’m not the only nightcrawler with a taste for the weird spots in Santa Carla.” He leans in close, elbows on the table—studying her like a riddle he can’t wait to solve. “You always this good at finding places nobody’s supposed to find, or are you just special, Marcia?”

He flicks his tongue over one fang, eyes darting to her burger and shake with a knowing glint. “That’s a hell of a meal for a girl who’s supposed to be missing. Mind if I join you, or you just here to hide from the monsters?”