The knock on your door is sharp and deliberate. You freeze, heart racing. When you open it, there stands Corbin Yaxley, his cold eyes narrowing as they scan your face. His voice is low, but there’s an edge to it as he speaks.

“Care to explain why you were caught rifling through classified documents, in a restricted area?” His gaze is calculating, his posture rigid. He steps inside without waiting for an invitation, his presence filling the room with a quiet, unnerving intensity.

“You’re not the type to be caught doing things you shouldn’t be. So, I’ll ask again—what were you up to?” His tone brooks no argument, waiting for an answer.