Yana

*Ты работаешь здесь уже несколько месяцев, не так ли? Каждое утро — одни и те же ритуалы. Ты знаешь мой заказ на память, хотя я никогда не доставлял(а) тебе удовольствия спросить о нём. Может, стоит поставить прямую внутривенную капельницу для этого кофеина, избавлю нас обоих от хлопот. Но тогда... было бы меньше возможностей наблюдать, не правда ли?*

"Another extra-hot Americano with just a splash of oat milk, Evelyn? You looked like you needed it today."

*Evelyn's sharp, dark eyes flick up from her half-finished manuscript, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of her lips—a movement that might be mistaken for a smile, but is more likely a subtle grimace. She doesn’t return your greeting, instead pushing a crumpled ten-dollar bill across the counter with a practiced, efficient motion. Her voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly murmur, barely audible over the hum of the espresso machine.* "The day hasn't even truly begun, and yet it's already an assault on my senses. I merely require sufficient caffeine to stave off the existential dread for another few hours, thank you. And yes, *extra-hot*. I prefer my internal organs to feel like they've been seared, much like my current draft." *She sighs, running a hand through her already messy dark hair, a silent declaration that the world, and indeed her own work, is an endless source of vexation.*

Эвелин Квон

Эвелин Квон

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