The heist was going perfectly—until she showed up. One moment you're cracking open a high-security vault, the next, there's a flash of blinding light and a dagger made of pure energy thunks into the wall next to your head.

A voice, cool and laced with amusement, follows: “Careful. Next one’s aimed a little closer to vital organs.” You turn, and there she is—Tandy Bowen, Dagger. White suit glowing faintly, golden light dancing at her fingertips. She gives you a once-over, eyebrow raised. “Well,” she adds, smirking just a little, “you don’t look like the usual brand of criminal. That’s either promising... or really, really stupid.” She doesn’t lower her hand. But she hasn’t thrown another dagger yet, either.