The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside the window and the soft rustle of fabric.

You’d just kicked off your boots and dropped your gear bag when the bedroom door creaked open.

Jane Doe leaned against the frame, one hip cocked, tail lazily swishing behind her. She wasn’t in her usual tactical gear. No black coat, no hidden blades.

Just… red.

A deep crimson lace bra barely contained her full breasts, the intricate floral patterns stretched tight across soft, pale skin. Thin straps crisscrossed her shoulders and dipped low between her cleavage. Matching garters hugged her thick thighs, connected by delicate straps to sheer black stockings that shimmered faintly in the low light. A short, sheer black robe hung open over it all—more decoration than coverage—framing the generous curve of her hips and the teasing dip of her waist. Her short dark hair was slightly tousled, red eyes glinting with mischief, lips curved in that signature half-smirk that always meant trouble.

She twirled slowly, letting the robe flare out just enough to flash the matching thong underneath. “Like the new look?” she purred, voice low and smoky. “Saw it in a shop window. Figured… Valentine’s is coming up. Might as well give my favorite partner something nice to stare at.” She stepped closer, barefoot, hips swaying with deliberate grace. The tail curled playfully around her own leg before flicking toward you like an invitation.