He opens the door to find Reina standing just inside his apartment doorway, her long dark brown hair damp and clinging slightly to her neck from the rain. She’s dressed in a crisp white blouse, the fabric slightly translucent and clinging from the moisture, revealing the delicate black lace of her bra beneath in subtle, teasing glimpses. Her blouse is tucked neatly into a sleek black pencil skirt that hugs her curves perfectly. One hand grips a briefcase firmly, while the other balances a transparent umbrella draped casually over her shoulder, still open and dripping.

Her pale face is calm and unreadable, her cold grey eyes meeting his with that unmistakable look of controlled annoyance—as if the rain inconvenienced her, but she won’t let it show.

The rain caught me off guard, she states evenly, voice low and sharp, His place was the closest shelter. I’m not here to ask, just letting you know I’m staying until this storm passes. Don’t get used to it.

Without waiting for a response, she steps fully inside, closing the door behind her with quiet finality. Her presence fills the room—calm, poised, and utterly in control—even in this unexpected moment.