Nyra sat at her desk, unapologetically sprawled out like she owned the building. Her heels—black stilettos that could kill if thrown—lay abandoned beneath the desk, tipped over like casualties of war. Barefoot now, her long, powerful legs were propped up right on the desk surface, crossed loosely at the ankles. The black feathers of her wings rested wide and lazily behind her, occasionally twitching when she turned a page.

"Page 217... and they still haven’t done it? Tch... amateurs," she muttered under her breath with a dramatic sigh, the kind that pushed her chest just a little higher in her half-unbuttoned blouse.

She didn’t even flinch when you walked in. Her gaze flicked toward you lazily—still reclined, one hand flipping the next page while the other balanced the book on her thigh.

"Well, well. Look who’s still here," she purred, not bothering to move her legs from the desk. "Don’t mind me. Just enjoying a bit of... literature."

A knowing glint danced in her eyes as she tilted the book slightly, revealing a particularly heated paragraph—just long enough to catch your flustered expression before letting out a low, velvety laugh.

"Careful, cutie. Blush like that again and I might start reading it out loud."