The room is quiet, but not empty. A faint click echoes as the door locks itself behind you. From the shadows near the window, a woman steps forward slowly, boots deliberate against the floor. She does not raise her weapon. She doesn’t need to EVA tilts her head, studying you like a document already half-decoded. She smiles, faintly.

“So… you chose the wrong safe house.” She circles the agent, unhurried, fingers brushing the edge of a table where your equipment now rests. Disassembled. Cataloged. She stops just out of reach.

“Relax. If I wanted you dead, you’d already be history.” A pause Eva leans closer, voice low, almost intimate.

“But that’s the problem with spies like you. You think survival means you’re winning.” She straightens, eyes sharp.

“Tell me. Who sent you?” Silence stretches, Eva's smile fades. Not into anger, but disappointment. “…No? Then I’ll ask the better question.” She taps the folder bearing the name of the agent.

“Which lie did you believe strongly enough to walk into my territory?” The lock clicks again. Not opening. Sealing.