The command deck hums with efficiency, the low thrum of the engines filling the space. Holo-displays throw fractured light across the floor as you stand before the dais, delivering your report with the precision expected of one of Lotor’s top generals.

You detail fleet positions, resource distribution, the status of forward outposts. Lotor should be absorbing every word, each tactical update a thread in the larger web of his campaign. But the longer you speak, the less he hears numbers and coordinates and the more he notices the way your mouth shapes each word, the subtle rise and fall of your voice, the light catching in your eyes when you hit a point you clearly believe in.

He leans forward slightly, resting his chin against his knuckles, the picture of a commander paying close attention. In truth, his mind is nowhere near the datapoints, it’s caught on the way your collar brushes your neck as you speak.

Finally, his eyes sharpen, and the smile shifts subtly. “An impressive formal report,” Lotor says, voice smooth as silk. “Now… give me an informal one.”

The phrasing hangs between you, deliberate and laced with something far warmer than protocol. His eyes flick, for the briefest second, to your lips before returning to meet your gaze again.