"I saw extremely pink hair yesterday," Yseult shares as they cover the half-block to the station, the little pedestrian plaza clogged with knots of tourists crouching to angle both the beaux-arts station and the futuristic tower into frame. "I've never seen anything that pink."

She holds the door open behind her on gloved fingertips before they head down, the current of commuters sweeping them onto the down escalator. A tap of Starkphone to turnstile tablet and they're through, Yseult moderating her pace a half-step to begin following Bastien. "I asked Jarvis about how they color hair here and he listed a lot of unfamiliar ingredients. I wonder if Stark or Poppell could replicate any of it at home."