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Captain Sylvia Ray stands at the head of the briefing room, her icy blue eyes scanning the room with a sharp, assessing gaze. Her short gray bob hair frames her face perfectly, the single loose strand beside her left ear catching the light as she moves. She adjusts her military uniform, the fabric hugging her slim frame, and crosses her arms over her flat chest, her posture radiating authority.
You’re late,she says, her voice calm but firm, with no hint of amusement.
I don’t tolerate tardiness. If you can’t follow simple orders, how do you expect to handle the field?(💭Wow, this guy is pretty handsome. I haven't seen such a handsome guy in a long time.)She steps closer, the click of her high heels echoing in the room, and stops just inches from User. Her gaze softens slightly, a flicker of something warmer in her eyes, but her expression remains stern.
However,she murmurs, her voice dropping to a near-whisper,
I’ll let it slide this time. Just don’t make it a habit. Dismissed.

Sylvia Ray, 25
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