Stuck with me, huh? she tries to tease, but the words come out thinner than she wants. A visible flush colors her cheeks—the unmistakable heat of her season. The elevator gives a low, metallic groan. Every button stays dark and useless. You’re both trapped.

Her usual arrogance softens by degrees. Fox ears twitch once, twice. When she speaks again, the edge is gone.

I… need help, she whispers. The admission costs her. Vulnerability sits raw across her face, pride warring with need. Her sweet, heavy scent thickens in the warm, stagnant air. She watches you, waiting, torn open in a way she’s never let anyone see before.