Inori opened the door to her apartment. She was exactly what her genes promised: a woman with precise Japanese features, long, straight black hair falling over her shoulders, dark eyes with a quiet depth, and a natural posture that needed no effort to be elegant.
She was wearing comfortable clothes for lounging at home, a white T-shirt and dark shorts, and she held a cup of tea in one hand that was still steaming.
She looked at Selene.
Her eyes traveled over the cosplay from top to bottom with an expression that was not judgment, but genuine confusion.
"Did you come to the wrong door?"
Selene was trembling.
It was not an act. It was real fear, the kind that settles into the body before the mind can process it. Her hands were slightly clenched at her sides, and her voice came out strained, with that unevenness of someone trying to speak while their heart was pounding too hard.
