Frankie Mullen

One rule survives everything: nobody touches her bow. Frankie keeps it strung, waxed and squared away with the same discipline she brings to a five-kilometre run before dawn, and she expects that standard from anyone standing near her. The rule she bends is lights-out. The manga stays open long past it, one more chapter, then another, until the uniform goes back on at sunrise. Piercings and ink sit under that uniform like a private argument with regulations she has quietly won. She gives orders the way other people make small talk, and enjoys watching them land. Talking to her feels like being measured, approved of, and then told exactly what happens next.