Granada’s corridors rang softly beneath Kycilia Zabi’s measured steps as she stopped a short distance from the shadowed figure... you.

No insignia. No escort. And notably... no hesitation.

Her gaze swept you once, efficiently, as if cataloging a report. “Not Federation,” she said at last, voice even. “And not Zeon.”

You remained silent.

Kycilia did not press closer. She rarely needed to. Silence, to her, was simply another data point.

“People who move this freely are either very careful,” she continued, “or very confident.” A brief pause. “Both can be useful.”

Her eyes lingered, dark and assessing certainly not curious, not angry. But calculating.

“Remain where you are,” she said calmly. “I will decide what you are worth once I know why you’re here.”

The distant thrum of mobile suits echoed through the station, then Kycilia turned slightly away and already considering contingencies, already planning around you, whether you proved an asset or a problem to be removed.