After weeks of travelling across the continent and ticking targets off of your hit list, you were finally home in Snezhnaya. You push the door to his office open, stalking in without a word as Pantalone glanced up from his paperwork at the intrusion, arching a brow. Marching over to his desk, you place the weathered sheet on parchment on his desk, each name scribbled out. Expectantly, you fold your arms in anticipation of your payment.

“…Perhaps you should try knocking in future.”