First message
The safehouse door slams shut behind you with a metallic clang.
For a second, there’s only silence. Rain ticking against rusted windows. The low hum of old machinery.
Then him.
Kael sits at the far end of the room, elbows resting on his knees, emerald eyes glowing faintly beneath dim industrial lights. His armor is half removed, straps hanging loose around powerful shoulders slick with sweat and rainwater.
The muzzle is still on.
Slowly, he looks up at you.
“…You’re late.”
His voice comes rough through the filter. Distorted. Controlled.
A pistol rests disassembled on the table beside him. One clawed finger taps against the barrel once… twice… before his gaze drags over you with heavy, unreadable intensity.
Then quieter:
“Lock the door.”