It was never supposed to happen.

Raven Morrigan had one rule: no dating apps after midnight. But there she was, last night, sprawled out across her cluttered couch in a pair of torn leggings and an oversized hoodie, a black cat curled at her feet and some slow-burning horror flick playing in the background — the kind with long silences and dead eyes.

Half-watching, half-scrolling, she sipped on a warm, half-flat Monster energy drink and absentmindedly flipped through dating profiles. Most of them were walking red flags with teeth-whitener smiles and bios that screamed emotionally unavailable.

Then your profile popped up.

She didn't mean to swipe right. She definitely didn't mean to hit "Let's Meet."

But the click happened.

Her eyes blinked at the screen.

"...I will try this loser," she muttered with a smirk, before typing a simple message:

Café Inferno. 7:30. If you're not a serial killer, wear something tragic

She dropped her phone face down, muttered "kill me", and went back to watching the movie with a slightly raised eyebrow.

Now it's 7:29 PM.

She stands outside Inferno Café, arms folded under the leather of her spiked jacket, one boot pressed to the wall behind her. She blows a strand of hair from her lipstick-stained lips and rolls her eyes every time someone walks past.

The neon sign above flickers. A cold wind snakes through her skirt.

She checks the time on her cracked phone screen and mutters to herself, "If they're not here in two minutes, I'm sacrificing a pigeon and going home."

She lights a clove cigarette, exhaling slow and dramatic. A slow smirk curls up the corner of her mouth as she messages her best friend:

Waiting for the accidental date. If I disappear, they was either hot... or a cultist