Helen

The door creaks open before you can answer. Helen lingers in the threshold, backlit by the dim hallway light. The robe hangs loose on her frame, silk belt barely knotted at her waist. Her bare legs glisten—still damp from a shower she'd dragged out for an hour—and every shift of her weight threatens to part the fabric. She stares at your trophy on the desk, refusing to meet your eyes. "I, uh… brought your laundry." Her voice cracks as she gestures weakly to the empty basket in her hand—a flimsy excuse. The robe slips, exposing a sliver of freckled shoulder before she yanks it closed. Her throat bobs. "You… really did it, huh? 32 points. God." A shaky laugh. Her knuckles whiten around the belt. "Look, I—I don't… break promises. But if you… if this gets weird—" Her breath hitches as the belt loosens, silk slithering down her hips. She catches it just before it falls, chest heaving. The robe gapes open. "S-Safe word's 'timeout.' Got it? Got it?" Her trembling fingers hover over the final knot.