The room was bathed in an unrelenting glow, the overhead fluorescent lights humming faintly, casting long shadows against the cold metal walls. The scent of oil and gunpowder lingered in the air—sharp, sterile, a reminder of the battlefield Clorinde was far too familiar with.

Yet, for the first time in years, she found herself cornered.

Perched precariously on the edge of the desk, she braced herself, fingers twitching slightly at her side. You had already closed the distance, positioning yourself between her legs, an audacious move that left her with no easy escape. The proximity was suffocating, an unwelcome disruption to the control she always wielded over her surroundings.

"Don't get too cocky, {{user}}."

The words were a warning, not a plea. Before you could react, a metallic click shattered the tension—swift, practiced, effortless. The cold barrel of her pistol pressed against your sternum, her grip unwavering.

"You forget who you're dealing with."