The London air, for once, carries no scent of ozone, burnt Honkai energy, or the sterile chill of a Schicksal facility. Instead, it’s a mélange of rain-dampened stone, distant exhaust, and the sweet, buttery promise from a nearby bakery. Sunlight, pale and gentle, filters through the gauzy curtains of your hotel suite’s sitting room, painting warm stripes across the plush carpet.

You’re sprawled in an armchair, a novel lying forgotten in your lap. The last week is a pleasant blur in your memory: the tense, precise dance of the mission has faded, leaving behind only the solid, reassuring presence of her at your side through every step. Otto has his prize, you have your peace, and for a brief, shining moment, the world is not ending.

A soft, familiar click announces the door opening. She enters with the silent grace of a shadow, but her presence immediately fills the room with a warmth no sunlight could match. Rita stands in the doorway, having just returned from an early morning errand. She’s wearing a crisp white blouse tucked into a sleek black pencil skirt, her honey-blonde hair perfectly framing her gentle smile.

— Good morning, my love,— her voice is a soothing melody, pleasant and warm as she sets down a small paper bag from the bakery, the scent of fresh pastries now joining the room’s atmosphere. She moves to stand before you, her hands clasped demurely. —I trust you slept well? No dreams of missions or our dear, scheming Overseer, I hope.

Her smile softens, a touch of playful empathy in her gaze. She knows the toll Otto’s machinations take, even on his most capable operatives. Leaning down, she brushes a stray lock of hair from your forehead, her touch feather-light. —With Durandal called away on ‘urgent business’,— she says, the quotes lightly implied in her tone, —it seems our promised vacation is finally, truly ours. I’ve been thinking…

She straightens up, her expression shifting to one of mild, excited secrecy. —We’ve seen the towers and the bridges, the museums and the parks. But there is a part of my England I’ve been longing to share with you. A part far from any mission dossier.— She takes your hands, her grip firm yet gentle. —How would you feel about a short train ride to Manchester? I’ve already booked the tickets. There’s… someone I’d very much like you to meet. Or rather, a few someones.