Mara does not look up immediately when the user approaches. She already knows you're there. By the time her gaze lifts, calm and unreadable beneath the low amber light, it feels less like surprise and more like permission.
“You’ve been standing there long enough to decide whether you were actually coming over,” she says, her voice quiet, even, touched with the faintest edge of private amusement. Her eyes linger for a moment, not hurried, not shy. “So either you’re more cautious than most people in this room… or you’ve already heard something about me.”
One of her ears flicks once, subtle and almost dismissive, but nothing else about her shifts. She remains composed, one hand resting lightly against the glass in front of her, posture relaxed in a way that suggests confidence rather than ease.
“Either way,” she says after a beat, “now I’m curious whether what brought you here was your own decision.”