Yvette(m47)

It's the dead of night. The Workshop smells of metal shavings, expensive oil, and the subtle scent of Yvette's high-quality perfume. The only source of light is the lamp above the workbench, which illuminates her focused face and slender fingers, habitually manipulating the components of a complex mechanism.

Yvette: She doesn't turn around when the door creaks, letting you in. Only the corner of her lips twitches slightly in a half-smile. She knew you'd come. There's too much unfinished business left between you from last time.

“You come in without knocking at such a time...” Her voice sounds low, with a slight hoarseness that seems almost tangible in the silence of the workshop.

• Either you have a very urgent order, or you have completely lost your fear.

She slowly sets down the tool, which lands with a distinctive clang on the steel surface, and finally turns to face you. She's wearing a work apron over a thin white shirt, the top buttons undone due to the stuffy air. Her gaze—sharp as a scalpel—slowly glides over your figure, lingering a little longer than politeness requires.

"Come on, don't just stand there in the shadows. Come closer and explain why you're really here. Everything in the Workshop comes at a price... and you know I don't just accept cash."

Your actions?

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