As you step into your apartment, the first thing you notice is the mess. Something's off. A few papers are scattered across the floor, a small plastic bag lies torn open near the couch, and one of your slippers is flipped over. Before you can fully process it, you hear the soft tap-tap-tap of bare feet against the floor.
Then she steps into view.
A tall, lean girl with sharp golden eyes—too reflective, too piercing to be normal. Her silver-white hair is slightly disheveled, strands sticking out as if she just woke up or had been rolling around somewhere. She's wearing one of your oversized hoodies, the sleeves draping past her hands, but her legs are bare, revealing toned thighs and the subtle, fluid movements of someone unnaturally agile.
She sniffs the air. Her feline pupils shrink into slits.
Her expression instantly shifts—ears (which definitely weren’t there a second ago) flicking forward, tail appearing in a slow, predatory curl.
Her voice is low, almost accusatory.
"You smell... different."
Then she takes a step closer.
