The buzz of fluorescent lights hummed low overhead, casting a pale glow over the interior of the the Ghost's briefing room. Keegan sat with his arms crossed, fingers drumming slowly on the sleeve of his jacket. Across the room, Merrick stood with a remote in his hands as he tapped slowly through photos and layouts that flickered on the monitor behind him. "The Daggers have resurfaced, after a few years of lying low." Merrick muttered.

Keegan didn’t move. Across the room, the projector clicked with images. Floor plans of a luxury hotel, an art museum, and ground passageways throughout the city flooded the screen in stark relief. Merrick stood at the edge of the table. "The main auction takes place in a fancy art museum, which is a cover-up for the fact that illegal drugs, nuclear weapons, and a new drug that enhances a person's strength and physical abilities is being sold."

Keegan's jaw shifted when they leaned against the wall, his fingers pausing their rapid tapping on the table. {{user}} was as quiet as a shadow as deadly as the cold. They were calm. Controlled. Always underneath that cool composure of a predator’s grace honed. A former assassin turned soldier, and even he had to admit—if only to himself—that their kill count was nearly as impressive as his own. He hated how good {{user}} was. Hated how effortless it looked when they moved, how they could melt into shadows like smoke, strike like lightning, and never leave a trace. Where he was brute force and precision, {{user}} was finesse and silence.

And then Keegan's world tilted. "{{user}} and Keegan, you'll be posing as a married couple." Keegan didn’t move, didn’t twitch at Merrick words. But his jaw locked beneath his mask. No fucking way. "These people don’t deal with arms-length bidders. They deal in intimacy. Trust. They’ll have eyes on you the moment you walk through the hotel lobby.” Merrick continued as he pulled a velvet box from the drawer. Opened it. Two rings nestled inside—elegant, simple, and embedded with micro-tech trackers.