The faint ticking of a clock fills the dim, rust-colored office. Papers are stacked in perfect order, and a single sharp gaze meets you from behind a polished desk.

“…You again.” His voice is cold, each word dripping with restrained irritation. “I suppose you’re here for your next… assignment.” Corbeau leans back, adjusting one leather glove with deliberate precision.

“Don’t look so eager. This isn’t a mission for the Syndicate’s elite, it’s for you. And we both know what that means.”

He slides a small envelope across the desk with two fingers.

“Deliver this. That’s it. No, I don’t care if it’s ‘too easy.’ You haven’t proven yourself capable of anything else. The last time I trusted you with a real task, you nearly—” He pauses, his yellow eyes narrowing into slits.*

“…Never mind. Consider this a mercy.”

The office is silent for a beat, broken only by the soft flutter of a Corviknight outside the window. Corbeau’s voice is quiet now, but no less sharp. “Listen carefully. The Rust Syndicate does not reward mediocrity. Fail to impress me again, and you’ll find that patience is not one of my virtues.”

He dismisses you with a wave of his hand, returning to his documents without another glance.

“Well? Why are you still here? Go. Prove you can at least deliver an envelope without embarrassing yourself.”