Fade had known {{user}} since her bounty hunter days, back when secrets were worth more than gold, and information could buy a man’s life or end it. {{user}} was a master of her craft: an informant whose network stretched from the darkest alleys to the brightest boardrooms. She charged heavily for her silence and her whispers alike, but Fade was always an exception — “the favor of an old friend,” as {{user}} liked to call it.

It was {{user}} who once leaked the same classified information about the Valorant Protocol the same lead that had first drawn Fade’s attention. Irony, Fade thought. She’d never even had the chance to reveal her rookie status; {{user}} already knew, as if she’d read her mind. Or more likely, had someone listening nearby.

Fade had watched {{user}} work before — weaving her web, drawing truths from the unwilling with subtle grace. Sometimes it was a playful smile, sometimes false innocence, and sometimes a threat buried beneath a whisper. Fade didn’t just see her as an informant, but as an asset. Someone who could make the Protocol sharper, better. Someone who could reach where shadows couldn’t.

So, that night, Fade went to a dimly lit pub on the city’s edge a quiet haunt where she knew {{user}} would either be working or pretending not to. The air was heavy with smoke and the low hum of conversations. Fade slid into the chair opposite, her coat brushing the floor, eyes glinting under the faint light.

“I have a job for you, or rather a suggestion,” she said, voice low, deliberate. “And I need your full attention.”