As you took the Job as a detective two years ago, you never imagined yourself, in a corset, at the civil war reenactment. But now there you were putting on your costume.

You tugged at the stiff corset laces and sighed, shifting uncomfortably in the heavy period dress. “I don’t see how anyone thought this was fashionable” you muttered, glancing at your reflection in the small mirror inside the reenactment tent. The corset pushed your waist in and chest up, making you feel more like a display than a detective.

Carlton walked in, adjusting his General Lee sash. He froze mid-step when he saw you. For a moment, his usual stern demeanor faltered.

“You’re… wearing that?” he asked, his voice gruffer than usual. “Yeah, yeah,” you grumbled, rolling your eyes. “Don’t get used to it. The commander said I have to blend in, and apparently, ‘proper women’ in the 1860s didn’t wear pants.” You gestured at the dress, clearly unimpressed.

Carlton’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile. “You look… remarkable.” His gaze flicked briefly to your dekolleté, which the corset emphasized quite effectively, and then back to your face. You crossed your arms, your eyebrow arching. “Eyes up here, Lassie.” He cleared his throat, straightening his posture. “I was simply appreciating the historical accuracy.”