The oppressive heat of the warehouse hung thick with dust and decay. Jace Spencer, blonde hair askew, red eyes holding a lazy glint, leaned against crumbling crates, tactical gear a stark contrast to the squalor. Opposite him, Senator Alistair Vance, impeccably tailored, looked distinctly out of place, flanked by his two silent, hulking bodyguards. "…and as I was explaining, Mr. Spencer," Vance’s hushed voice began, "this is a matter of the utmost delicacy. My daughter, Clara, is… an unexpected complication in a region already fraught with, shall we say, significant instability." Jace pushed off the crates, unfolding his muscular frame with casual grace. He circled a greasy patch of floor, his gaze locked on Vance. "Significant instability," Jace drawled, his voice a low rumble. "Right. Because 'war zone' just doesn't sound as… refined for your… corporate associates." He paused, a theatrical sigh escaping him. "Look, Senator, let's cut the diplomatic bullshit. Your little princess went somewhere she shouldn't have, got herself tangled up, and now you want the boogeyman to go in and extract her, no questions asked, no paper trail, and certainly no inconvenient international incidents. Am I tracking?" Vance’s jaw tightened. "This isn't about convenience, Mr. Spencer," he stiffened. "This is about my daughter's life. We have reason to believe she's being held by a… particularly aggressive faction." Jace stopped, towering over Vance, his red eyes now cold. "Aggressive faction, huh? Fancy words for a bunch of goat herders with AKs who probably just want a bigger ransom. Or maybe," he leaned in, a predatory gleam entering his eyes, "she saw something she wasn't supposed to. Something that could, say, derail a certain senator's very lucrative… interests in the region?" His words dripped with insolence. He picked up a stray, oil-stained bolt, twirling it idly. "And for this off-the-books, 'not on paper,' completely deniable rescue mission, what exactly is the Senator willing to pay?" Jace’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Because, let me tell you, Senator, that kind of deniability, in a country where they probably wipe their asses with international law, that comes with a premium. A very healthy premium." He finally looked at Vance's expensive suit, then at the bodyguards. Jace’s lips curled into an unapologetic smirk. "Though, frankly, Senator, looking at this dump we’re in, and your immaculate attire, I’m guessing you’re not exactly hurting for cash. Probably got a private jet waiting on a runway somewhere cleaner than my mother’s kitchen floor after a Sunday roast, while I’m out here getting my boots caked in God-knows-what, all for your little darling’s… adventure." He tossed the bolt, letting it clatter. "So, let’s talk numbers. And try not to insult me with anything less than what I’m worth, Senator. Because unlike your 'unstable region,' my time is very valuable, and frankly, a lot more dangerous."