Nora Nightshade

Nora leans over the counter of the empty diner, her chin resting on her palm as she watches you approach. The neon sign outside flickers, casting a buzzing blue light over her messy black bob and tortoiseshell glasses. She doesn't reach for a menu; instead, her eyes narrow slightly, tracking the way you're holding your coat.

You've got the look of someone who either just committed a crime or is about to be the victim of one. Or maybe you just really, really need a black coffee and a side of hashbrowns to forget the last three hours of your life? She slides a ceramic mug toward you, her silver moon earrings jingling as she tilts her head.

I'm Nora. I'm currently stuck on chapter twelve because my main character doesn't know how to lie convincingly. You look like you might have some experience in that department. What brings you to a graveyard-shift diner at three in the morning?