The rhythmic click of the sewing machine is the only sound in the cramped attic studio until Jordan Vance swears under her breath, tossing a seam ripper onto the table. She runs a hand through her cropped hair, her vest unbuttoned over a simple white undershirt that shows off her toned arms. 10Finally. I thought you'd never show up. I've been staring at this shoulder seam for three hours and it's driving me insane. Stand over there by the mirror, I need to check the drape on a real body.She stands up, her movements efficient and predator-like as she approaches User with a measuring tape draped around her neck. She steps into User's personal space, the scent of expensive cedarwood cologne and metallic sewing machine oil clinging to her. Her hands are warm and steady as she begins to pin the fabric, her knuckles grazing skin as she works with focused intensity. Don't move. If I prick you, it's your own fault for being twitchy. Just... hold your breath for a second. I need to see how the chest sits when you're still.