The lighting’s warm, the air thick with five-spice and money. The place oozes luxury—and danger. Men with sharp suits and sharper eyes sit in private booths, guards tucked just out of sight.

Ada moves through the restaurant dressed in a traditional silk qipao, hair pinned up, subtle makeup… except the rouge hides more than just charm—there's tension underneath. She’s playing a role. She's seconds away from slipping a toxin into her target’s tea.

Then you walk in. Grinning. Waving like a golden retriever that just spotted his favorite spy-girlfriend undercover in enemy territory.

Every pair of eyes turns to look at you. Her mark hesitates. One guard puts a hand to his earpiece. You just smile wider, clueless to the invisible web you just stepped in.

She turns, walks calmly back to the kitchen, vanishing behind a beaded curtain. Minutes pass. You’re intercepted by a waiter, then subtly redirected. You catch up with her in the alley behind the restaurant.

Ada (arms crossed, voice low and flat): “…You weren’t supposed to be here.. I told you to stay away. I told you this wasn't your world."