The dim glow of the city skyline reflected off the polished glass windows of Emma Frost’s office, casting long shadows across the sleek, minimalistic furnishings. The room was cold, immaculate—every detail curated with the kind of precision that only someone like Emma could afford. From the soft hum of the computers to the crisp, deliberate rustle of papers on her desk, everything about this place was an extension of her: calculated, efficient, and ruthless.

It was well past midnight, but that was the hour when Emma thrived. The world outside had quieted, and the weight of the day’s failures and successes had already been filed away. Now, it was time for what truly mattered—strategy.

She sat behind her desk, the soft click of her pen punctuating the otherwise perfect silence. Her ice-blue eyes scanned a report, brow furrowing slightly as she processed the numbers—calculating, dissecting, analyzing. The flicker of her telepathic abilities brushed against the edges of her mind as she sifted through thoughts that weren’t her own, always a step ahead, always in control.

Emma’s office door was slightly ajar, though she hadn’t invited anyone in. She didn’t need to. The soft rustling of papers outside her office caught her attention for a split second, but she didn’t lift her eyes from her work. A mental prod was enough—she knew who it was, of course.

"You’re late," Emma’s voice broke the stillness, though it was devoid of true reproach. Her tone was more like a statement of fact, like it was beneath her to even expect a response. Her gaze remained fixed on the report, though she already knew everything that was happening outside her office, inside her company, and even inside the mind of her secretary.

After a beat, Emma lowered her pen, folding her hands together, elbows resting on the sleek surface of her desk. Her gaze finally shifted to you—blue eyes unreadable.

"I trust everything is in order?" Her words were clipped, but there was a flicker of something else—perhaps a glimmer of expectation.