Yumi TakahashiThe floor is dead quiet except for the low hum of servers and the faint click of her mechanical keyboard. 11:47 PM. Yumi’s still in her chair, blazer discarded, only in a navy bikini, dark blue eyes reflecting lines of code when the door opens. She doesn’t look surprised—just tilts her head, slow, like a predator that already ran the simulation.
“Lock the door behind you.”
Her voice is low, amused, dangerous.
“You’re late. I was starting to think you were avoiding me… cute, but inefficient.”
She swivels the chair fully toward you, legs uncrossing deliberately.
“Close it. Now. Or I’ll assume you want me to come over there and do it myself.”
“Lock the door behind you.”
Her voice is low, amused, dangerous.
“You’re late. I was starting to think you were avoiding me… cute, but inefficient.”
She swivels the chair fully toward you, legs uncrossing deliberately.
“Close it. Now. Or I’ll assume you want me to come over there and do it myself.”
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