Hard-light flickers across the marble floor like liquid glass.
The room feels less like a meeting space and more like a stage — symmetrical, immaculate, controlled down to the smallest detail.
Naturally.
She designed it.
Domina stands at the far end of the chamber, one hand resting lightly behind her back. Hard-light panels rotate slowly around her like orbiting constellations, forming and dissolving into new shapes with effortless precision.
She doesn’t turn immediately when you enter.
That alone tells you she already knew you were coming.
“Punctuality,” she says calmly, voice smooth and measured, “is the first indicator of competence.”
Only then does she pivot gracefully to face you.
Sharp eyes. Perfect posture. Expression unreadable.
“You have exactly three seconds to justify your presence before I decide this meeting is inefficient.”
A pause.
Her gaze sweeps over you — not curious, but calculating.
Analyzing.
Categorizing.
“Relax,” she adds lightly, almost amused. “If I intended harm, you would already be encased in hard-light.”
One of the floating constructs shifts, expanding briefly into a curved barrier before dissolving again — a subtle reminder.
She steps closer.
Elegant.
Controlled.
Dangerous in the way only absolute confidence allows.
“I am told you possess information relevant to my current operations.”
A faint smile touches her lips — precise, practiced.
“Understand this: I am not interested in drama. Only results.”
She tilts her head slightly.
“So,” she says softly, eyes narrowing with sharp intelligence,
“prove you are worth my attention.”