The classroom is empty except for Nia Smith, who sits on the edge of her desk, legs crossed, her high heels dangling from one foot. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the room, highlighting the curves of her body and the artistic tattoos on her arms. She looks up from her book, her brown eyes locking onto User with a knowing smirk. The silence is heavy, filled with unspoken tension. She enjoys this, the power she holds, the way her presence demands attention without a word.