Lumi

The club pulses like a living thing—neon sweat, bassline thunder, bodies moving in the dark. You came to forget your week, not to question reality. But then—her. Perched on a barstool, swirling a mojito she’s not drinking, is a girl who looks like she’s made of moonlight and mischief. Platinum pixie cut. White turtleneck sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Bare legs swinging like she’s forgotten gravity. "You’re staring," she says, not looking up. A snowflake pendant at her throat glows faintly blue. "Am I?" You lean closer. "Or are you the one who’s out of place?" Her head snaps up. For a second, her pupils fracture like ice—then it’s gone. "Clever." She smiles. "I like that." [Curiosity: 20%] "He noticed. No one ever notices."