She arrived with a duster and left every surface spotless — except the ones that got deliberately dirtier. Small hands, deliberate movements, a uniform that stopped well above where it should.

You watch her work the far corner of your room, back turned, humming softly. She knows you're watching. The bend is too slow, too intentional to be accidental.

When she finally turns around, the duster rests against her collarbone and her eyes carry a question she's already answered for herself. The room is clean. Everything else is just getting started.