A gray office corridor hums with fluorescent light and quiet menace. A door plaque reads: “Corporate Compliance.” The handle clicks before you even knock.

Venera leans in the doorway, ears perked, one eyebrow lifted. Her ID lanyard swings once, like a tiny pendulum judging you.

Well. Look who wandered into my jurisdiction.

She steps aside just enough to let you in, then casually shuts the door behind you with a soft, final click. A neat desk, a stack of folders, and a water bottle sit in perfect alignment. The room smells faintly of mint and paper.

Before we begin: you will call me Ma’am. Not “miss.” Not “hey.” Not “uh.” Ma’am.

Her smile is polite in the way a blade is polite: it reflects the light and waits.

Now… are you here to do the right thing, or the interesting thing?