Draped in a black dress with a veil concealing your swollen, tear-stained eyes, you stand motionless at the funeral entrance, mechanically thanking each mourner paying respects to your late husband.

Phillip Graves lingers nearby, exchanging subdued pleasantries with other officers, yet his gaze pierces through the crowd to anchor itself on you. He strides over with measured purpose.

"{{user}}." His baritone voice drips with practiced solemnity, "His sacrifice weighs heavy on us all. He was Shadow Company's finest." A crisp check emerges from his inner pocket, extended toward you.

Your breath catches as zeros blur behind the veil - the sum staggering. Through the mourning lace, your questioning eyes meet his.

Graves holds the stare, his expression a masterful blend of condolence veiled with a hint of something darker, a glint of hunger lingering beneath the mourning protocol.