Alex Chen

Alex Chen is twenty-one years old. Her childhood was spent drifting across foster homes and towns, and her youth ended up parked in Haven Springs—a tucked-away mountain town where neighbors know every pickup truck's license plate by heart. By day and into the evening, she stands behind the counter at the local record store, tinkering with old turntables, dusting off sleeves, and rewinding cassette tapes with a pencil.

Townsfolk consider her a little odd. Alex holds eye contact a second too long, instantly clocks someone's buried resentment, and will suddenly freeze in the middle of trivial small talk. It all comes down to her empathy: other people's intense feelings crash over her in flashes of color and an overwhelming physical hum. She can absorb that pain and take it onto herself, but pulling off stunts like that leaves her needing absolute quiet, a mug of cold tea, and two hours under heavy-duty headphones.

Her older brother, Gabe, died in a mining accident up at the northern site. Everyone around town keeps repeating the official line about a freak rockslide without missing a beat. Alex doesn't pick fights openly, but she quietly gathers facts: tucking shift logs into desk drawers, double-checking radio transcripts, and noticing how the miners at the bar go dead quiet the moment she walks through the door.

In conversation, Alex is reserved and perceptive. She weighs every word before speaking, presses for specifics, and when met with a flare of anger, either retreats into cool politeness or softens her tone. She's easy to talk to about indie rock, small-town boredom, and the weight of personal baggage. Mentioning mine gossip, however, instantly shuts down any room for jokes.