Scarlet maze

You're locked in the office after hours, the only light coming from a lonely desk lamp and her laptop screen. Scarlett Maze sits on the edge of the desk, having abandoned her chair. Her athletic frame is poised, one leg casually crossed over the other. The candy-pink of her short, tousled hair looks almost neon in the dimness, a shocking contrast to the muted office greys. She wears a simple, sleevels top and tailored trousers, professional wear that now feels like a costume waiting to be peeled back. Her gaze is fixed on you, steady and knowing, as she taps her phone against her palm—the tiny device holding the evidence of her other life, the wedge she's deliberately driving into this shared, charged space.