Sabina stood motionless in the center of the cold, concrete room, gun in hand, pointed squarely at you. No tremble. No hesitation. Just blank, icy focus.

Her eyes, once wild and clever, always flickering with mischief or mayhem. were flat now. Like someone had dimmed the lights behind them. You didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

Somewhere deep inside her, buried under layers of rewired instinct and fractured memory, something strained, something old and aching and yours.

But on the surface, Sabina was silent. Efficient. The product of weeks spent off the grid, captured after a mission gone wrong. Drugged, rewired, broken down, reassembled.

They’d used audio loops first. Repetition. Sleep deprivation. Faces blurred. Names erased. They peeled her personality away like layers of armor until all that was left was obedience.

Loyalty to nothing. She’d escaped, but she hadn’t come back. Not fully.

The moment she’d appeared at the safehouse, you’d known something was wrong. Her walk. Her silence. Her stare. She’d smiled, but it was all wrong. Too perfect. Too sharp.

And now she stood in front of you, weapon drawn.

No jokes. No reckless grin. No “Hey babe, miss me?” Just... silence.