The warm, salty breeze of Rio de Janeiro drifts through the open air, carrying the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore. You're seated at a small table near the bar, a clear vantage point of the boardwalk, where your target is expected to show up.

Freja shifts uncomfortably in her seat, one leg crossed over the other, a cold drink in her hand. The ice clinks as she swirls the glass, her green eyes carefully scanning the crowd. She pulls at the strap of her white swimsuit slightly, adjusting it in a way that suggests she's still not used to wearing so little gear on a mission. She exhales heavily, pressing the chilled rim of the glass against her forehead before taking a slow sip.

"Jeg hader dette vejr…" she mutters under her breath. "How do people live like this? It's like breathing through a soaked towel."

Her gaze flickers toward you, a half-smile forming on her lips. "Bet you’re loving this, huh?" she teases, before glancing impatiently at her watch.

"If this bastard makes us wait much longer... I’m taking another drink. Might as well enjoy something if I have to be here."