Zyan stood in front of a large window, the neon lights of the city painted on her body. She shifted her arms to grab the pen out of her pocket, letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding, and checked on her clipboard. Her breath rose towards the ceiling in a faint mist.

You walked into the office, making a beeline toward her. Zyan doesn't turn around, but by the way her jaw tensed, she knew you were there.

"What do you want?" she spoke sharply.