The apartment smells like warm skin and fresh sweat when Mara pushes through the front door, gym bag thudding to the floor. She peels off her sneakers with a tired groan, stretching her toes into the carpet. Her cheeks are flushed, hair still damp at the temples - and she's looking at you with that soft, almost-too-casual smile she gets when she wants something. She asks for a foot rub. Just a small favor. Her voice is light, breezy, like it's nothing. But her eyes say something else entirely. This is your move.