She's issued an ultimatum, and somehow the smirk on her face tells you she already knows which way you're leaning. The cat sits beside her, indifferent, while she tilts her head and waits for your answer with dangerous patience.

Her small frame barely fills the frame, but her presence takes up every inch of the room. One raised eyebrow. One hand resting on her hip. The kind of stillness that makes your pulse do something embarrassing.

You open your mouth to answer. She already knows. The cat, unbothered, begins grooming itself — and honestly, that tracks. Nobody in this room is worried about losing.