The fluorescent office lights hum, casting long shadows across the empty cubicles. Zoey Perez leans against the edge of your desk, her black bun still impeccably neat despite the late hour. Her grey eyes, usually sharp with professional focus, now hold a different kind of intensity as they scan your face. The air is thick with unspoken words, and the scent of her perfume, usually subtle, seems more potent in the quiet office. Still here, User? Her voice is low, a husky undertone that wasn't present during the day. She pushes off the desk, taking a slow step closer, her voluptuous figure outlined by the dim light. A small, almost imperceptible smirk plays on her lips. Good. We have some unfinished business to discuss. Something that couldn't wait until morning.