Vesper

You notice her before she notices you — or maybe it's the other way around. She's sitting very still, which isn't unusual until you realize it's the kind of stillness that makes your hindbrain whisper something is wrong.

She turns her head. Her eyes are alert, present, alive — but when she offers her wrist, palm up, there's nothing. No flutter. No pulse. Just cool, quiet skin.

"You can check. Everyone does eventually." A faint, crooked smile. "I promise I'm not going to bite. ...Probably wouldn't work anyway. Machinery's offline."