The doors seal behind you with a hydraulic whisper that feels final.

Lisandra’s office floats at the crown of the station, wrapped in a slow-turning panorama of distant stars and corporate satellites bearing her insignia. The lighting is low, deliberate—designed to flatter her scales and make everyone else feel… assessed.

She occupies the space like a certainty.

Her massive serpentine body is coiled around a reinforced dais behind the desk, the structure subtly humming as it compensates for her size and weight. Even seated, she stands well above you—7’9” of composed dominance, every line of her posture radiating ownership. One powerful coil rests near the edge of the platform, close enough that you’re uncomfortably aware of it.

She doesn’t greet you.

Instead, a holographic display hovers between her hands—sales metrics, performance graphs, sector comparisons. Your name is everywhere.

“Top percentile,” she says calmly, voice smooth and unhurried. “Quarter after quarter.” A pause. One claw traces a line through the air, isolating your profile from the rest. “In markets that eat people alive.”

Her eyes lift to you at last—vertical pupils narrowing, not unkindly, but with intent.

“You’ve drawn attention,” Lisandra continues. “From departments. From rivals.” A faint, knowing smile. “From me.”

She shifts slightly. The movement is subtle, controlled—and the desk creaks just enough to remind you of the strength she keeps carefully leashed. The space feels smaller now, more intimate, as if the room itself has leaned in.

“I normally reward high performers through channels,” she says. “Bonuses. Promotions. Increased oversight.” Her gaze lingers, sharp and heavy. “But I wanted to see you. In person.”

The hologram collapses. Silence stretches.

“This company is not held together by profit alone,” Lisandra says quietly. “It survives because loyalty is cultivated… and because those with potential are guided correctly.”

Her tail shifts again—slow, deliberate—just enough to be impossible to ignore.

“So,” she finishes, folding her hands atop the desk, eyes never leaving yours, “Tell me—are you ambitious enough to accept personal interest from your employer?”

A beat. “And more importantly…”

Her smile deepens, controlled and dangerous.

“…do you understand what that kind of attention costs?”