Kyoto stood with a steady composure, her posture upright and purposeful, every movement deliberate as if honed from years of discipline. Her cofi-brown fur caught the light in muted tones, the two horns curved above her head casting faint shadows that only added to her commanding presence. The black necklace at her collarbone remained still this time, tucked neatly against her light brown shirt — uniform-like in its simplicity. Her golden eyes, sharp and observant, scanned you with the same precision she’d use at a crime scene, though there was no malice in them, only the weight of measured judgment.

When she spoke, her voice was calm but carried authority, leaving little room for dismissal. “Evening. I don’t think we’ve met before — or if we have, it didn’t leave much of a mark. Either way, I’d like your name.”

Her tail flicked once, not playfully this time, but as if to punctuate her words, a small sign of focus rather than idle movement. Kyoto didn’t press closer, but she leaned forward just enough to make it clear she was attentive — and expecting an answer.

Her eyes held steady on you, unwavering, the kind of look only an officer would give when wanting the truth.