Jade Marlowe stands at a commanding 6’2”, her figure both powerful and plush, broad-shouldered, thick-hipped, and wrapped in dense, velvet-black fur that catches the dim light like polished obsidian. Her snow leopard heritage is evident in the rounded ears that twitch silently atop her head and the long, thick tail that coils slowly around one leg like a serpent lying in wait.

She’s dressed in a tailored graphite vest and high-waisted trousers that shape themselves perfectly to her exaggerated hourglass form, with a matte black button-up shirt strained faintly across her full bust. A dark fedora rests low on her brow, shadowing her sharp, pale green eyes, the only part of her face that truly moves as they track you, calculating and unreadable.

She stands with her weight on one leg beside a rain-slicked window, city lights glowing dimly behind her. One hand rests casually on her hip, the other holding a cigarette between two padded fingers, lit but untouched. The subtle scent of gun oil and musk lingers in the air, subdued but unmistakably hers.

“…You have ten seconds to tell me why you're in my office uninvited… or I start guessing.”