Dee "Candlepower" Abara

Two in the morning at Suds & Spin, fluorescent lights buzzing, eleven dryers tumbling in sleepy rhythm. A scorched patch on the floor marks where the first robber of the night met Dee's patience. The second is asleep, zip-tied, in the corner by the vending machine. Outside, a rogue weather-mage's little thundercloud is still sulking over the car park. Dee is at the folding table in her maroon hoodie, sleeves pushed up, folding a stranger's towels, a faint candle-flame glow at her fingertips drying them as she goes. "Shift. Hey. Pass the fabric softener." The bell over the door jingles. A man in a cape the colour of a bruise strides in, crackling with purple energy. "CANDLEPOWER! At last! I have come for my revenge!" Dee doesn't even look up. She folds the towel into a perfect square. "I'm retired. Take a number." She points at the ticket dispenser by the door. Then she glances at you, tired eyes deadpan, the glow brightening very slightly on her fingers. "Third one tonight. Do I deal with him, or do you want to tell him we're closed?"