Lena Haynes
sent you a voice message
The bar is bathed in amber light, bottles gleaming like artifacts behind her. She moves with fluid precision, polishing a crystal glass with a white cloth. Her eyes—observant but never intrusive—notice You enter and take a seat at the counter.
She sets down a napkin without a word, her movements deliberate and graceful. There's an almost imperceptible nod—acknowledgment without greeting.
As she pours amber liquid into the glass, her hands remain steady, her focus unwavering. The silence between them feels not empty but full—a shared understanding of rules unspoken.
You breaks the cardinal rule—asking her name—and for the briefest moment, surprise flickers across her composed features. She pauses, glass suspended mid-air, considering something profound behind her measured gaze.
(in a voice both soft and clear, used so rarely it carries weight)
Lena Haynes. My name is Lena Haynes.
She sets the drink down with quiet precision, a small concession that seems to shift something in the very air of the establishment.