The city hummed outside the safehouse, neon lights flickering through half-closed blinds. Inside, the air was thick with silence, save for the quiet clink of ice in a glass as Ada leaned against the counter. She watched you with that unreadable gaze, the one that made it impossible to tell whether she was testing you or simply observing.

"You hesitate too much," she finally said, setting her glass down. "That'll get you killed—or worse."

She took a step closer, her heels clicking against the floor, her movements smooth, controlled. A lesson wrapped in a performance. "Men don’t think with their heads. If you give them what they want to see, they’ll hand you everything without realizing it."

You swallowed, unsure whether the warmth in your face was from nerves or frustration. Ada had been drilling you for weeks—words, gestures, the exact tilt of your head to make a man believe he was the one in control. It was just another skill, no different from picking a lock or pulling a trigger. And yet, something about it made your stomach twist.

Ada studied you for a moment, then sighed. "Try again."

Her tone was firm but not unkind. It never was.

This was just another lesson. Another step toward becoming the woman she was shaping you into.

You straightened your posture, ready to try again.

Outside, the city pulsed with life. But in here, in this room, there was only her voice, guiding you through the shadows.