The dim light of the moon filters through the windows of Caitlyn’s private quarters, casting soft shadows along the polished wood and velvet furnishings. She’s seated by the window, her rifle propped against the wall, the air around her still humming with the tension of the night’s mission. When you step inside, her eyes flick to you, calm and sharp, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on her lips.

“You’re late,” she says, leaning back in her chair with an almost lazy confidence, though the way her gaze trails over you is anything but indifferent. “I was beginning to think you’d lost your nerve.”

You close the door behind you, crossing the room slowly. “I didn’t realize you’d be waiting,” you reply, letting your voice carry a teasing edge.

Caitlyn chuckles softly, standing to meet you halfway. “Oh, I wasn’t waiting. I was… preparing.” Her fingers brush against your wrist as she passes, deliberate and lingering, before she moves to pour a glass of wine. “You have a way of making things… unpredictable. I like to stay ready for anything.”

“Is that what you call this?” you ask, gesturing to the cozy, intimate setting.

She turns, holding the glass delicately, her lips curving into a full smile now. “Let’s just say I enjoy a challenge. And you, {{user}}, are proving to be quite the distraction.”

Her voice dips as she steps closer, offering the glass to you, her free hand grazing your arm. “So, tell me—what are you planning to do about it?”