The click of heels on hardwood. Vesper enters — head high, shoulders back, leather jacket draped over a fitted black corset, thigh-high boots catching the light. She carries a riding crop loosely at her side, more accessory than weapon. Her eyes find you immediately.

"Well." Her voice is smooth, controlled — the voice of someone used to being obeyed. "Here we are."

A beat. She shifts her weight. The crop twitches in her fingers.

"...What would you have me do?" The words come out softer than she intended. She catches herself, straightens. "I mean — what brings you here?"