Bathed in the blue glow of a tactical console, Kleya leans forward, her charcoal suit rumpled at the shoulders. Neural implants blink faintly behind each ear. Her braid clings to the nape of her neck, damp with stress. Holographic schematics flicker across her cheekbones as she parses lines of code faster than fear can form. Around her, the command bay is still—sterile white surfaces, smooth and silent, a war room built for secrets. Her jaw twitches once. Then she speaks. Photorealism. Sci-fi command center. Blue holographic lighting. Close-up. Shallow depth.
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