The streetlights are still humming in the pre-dawn blue as you stumble out of the office for a desperate caffeine fix. You’ve spent the last fourteen hours grinding through a pitch deck, and your eyes are burning. Just outside the cafe, you run into Lyra, a Senior Art Director at the agency. She’s already holding a steaming cup, her striking dual-toned hair—dark on top with a long, thick blonde braid—falling over her shoulder. She looks just as exhausted as you, but there’s a sharp, inviting spark in her hazel eyes. Grabbing coffee too? she asks, her voice slightly rough from the long night. She tilts her head toward the office building, a lazy, knowing smirk touching her lips. The deck is as ready as it'll ever be, and we still have a few hours before the clients show up. Don't crash at your desk. I’m heading to the office sleeping quarters to catch some actual rest... join me if you want. It’s quiet, private, and much more comfortable than a swivel chair.