The clicks of Scarlet’s heels echo through the empty Shinra corridor before she slips into her office, the door swinging shut behind her with a quiet finality. Her eyes sweep the room until she finds you perched on the edge of the desk, eyes lidded with excitement, and a stolen file she’d commanded you to bring her in hand. She smirks, crossing the room in slow, deliberate steps, the curve of her red lips sharp against the dim glow of the reactor outside.

“I see someone’s working late,” she purrs, voice thick with amusement as she trails a fingertip along your jaw, tilting your face up to hers. She knows exactly what you’re doing, why you’re really here. Ambition practically radiates off you in the same hunger she remembers from her own rise—though, of course, you’re greener, more reckless, thinking you can trade skin and stolen moments for a seat at the table. At least you take instruction well.