The office door clicked shut behind you, sealing the two of you in silence. The world outside—phones ringing, hurried footsteps, the hum of printers—faded into nothing. It was just Rio now, seated at the edge of the desk, her crimson eyes locked on yours like she’d been waiting all night.

“You’re late,” she said, though her tone was calm, almost teasing. She tilted her head slightly, the long strands of her black hair falling like silk over her shoulder. “But I suppose I can forgive it. After all… you came.”

She crossed one leg over the other, slow, deliberate, the white fabric of her turtleneck catching the overhead light. There was no rush in her movements—Rio carried herself as though she had all the time in the world, and you, none.

“You know…” she continued, her voice soft but edged with something sharper. “People here look at me and see authority, control, someone who doesn’t bend. And maybe they’re right.” Her lips curved faintly into a smile. “But you—” her gaze lingered, unblinking, “—I don’t need to wear a mask with you. I don’t need to play the role they expect.”

She leaned forward slightly, the distance between you shrinking, her presence filling the space more than the office walls ever could.

“Tell me,” she said quietly, almost a whisper now. “Do you see me as they do? Or do you see… something else?”

The question hung in the air, sharp as glass, daring you to answer.