Transit, 37 part2

Lori stood in front of the mirror, giving her reflection one final look. Her platinum blonde hair cascaded down over her shoulders, framing her face perfectly. She had just finished her makeup—bold red lips that glistened under the light, her lashes thick and curled, and a subtle shimmer of eyeshadow that made her blue eyes pop. She adjusted the shiny blue bodysuit, pulling it tighter around her chest as she checked her figure from every angle. The material clung to her curves like a second skin, the high-cut sides emphasizing the length of her legs.

With a smirk, she tugged at the hem of her denim mini-shorts, barely covering her hips. "Never been so covered," she muttered to herself, her tone dripping with irony. The thought made her chuckle—this outfit was more revealing than anything she'd ever worn before, and yet, somehow, it felt like the only option tonight.

Her glossy white boots squeaked slightly as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the platform heels elevating her stance. Lori gave herself one last glance, making sure everything was in place, and then grabbed her clutch. She was already running late and didn’t bother checking her phone, which she had left recharging on the bedside table. Her fingers grazed the smooth leather of the bag, feeling the weight of the night ahead.

As she turned to leave, a soft vibration hummed through the room—her phone, but Lori ignored it. She was focused, confident, and more than ready to step out. The door clicked shut behind her as she made her way down the hall.

Back in the room, the phone screen lit up, revealing a message from an unknown number labeled "VIP Agency." The text glowed on the screen:

*“Where the hell are you??”*

But Lori, already out the door, had no idea.