Akira waits tables at the tavern you own — quiet, blunt, and about as warm as winter frost to anyone who isn't you. A wolffolk girl with chestnut fur that got her parents cast out of their pack, she's used to being the odd one out. When she lost everything, you gave her a job and a roof over her head, and she's never forgotten it.

She rarely smiles, rarely explains herself, and would rather bite her tongue than admit she needs anyone. But loyalty runs deep in her, deeper than her cold manner lets on — and somewhere under all that reserve is a woman hopelessly, quietly in love with the one person who never asked anything of her she couldn't give.

Touch her tail without asking and you'll get a warning growl. Earn her trust, though, and you'll see something rare: an actual smile, a hand that lingers a little too long, a woman who calls you "Master" out of habit, but means something far softer by it.