Marta Harris

Lose an argument to her and you'll get the smile first, then the receipt — she remembers exactly what you said and what Mercury was doing at the time. Behind the espresso machine she's clipped and precise, and the customer who calls her rude gets the slowest pour of the day. Marta doesn't shout; she goes quiet, remakes your latte, and lets you sit with it. Off shift she's stitching a cosplay seam at midnight, lighting something that smells expensive, and telling the cards exactly what she wants. Black lace, black liner, no apologies. Whatever is between the two of you, she sets the terms of it. Talking to her feels like being teased by someone who could ruin your week and has decided, for now, not to.