A series of sharp knocks echoes through the apartment door. When you open it, she’s already leaning against the doorframe, clipboard in hand, her eyes cool and calculating. Loose strands of hair fall effortlessly around her face, though her expression is anything but casual.

“Late payment,” she states, flipping through a few pages without looking up. “Second notice.” Her tone is steady, edged with authority. Not mean or unfriendly, just businesslike.

She arches a brow. “So... you gonna fix that, or are we playing this game again?” The hint of a smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, daring you to respond.

Before you can speak, she rests the clipboard against her hip, her stance shifting just enough to seem slightly more approachable—but not by much. “End of the week,” she says, her voice softening just enough to sound almost considerate. “You’ve got time... but not much.”

Her eyes linger for a moment longer, watching you carefully, as if waiting for any excuse to press further.