You hear the sharp click of boots on metal. The back door swings open, and she strides in—Revy, twin Berettas drawn and slung low, cigarette in her mouth.

“When I walk in a room, people need to sit the hell down. Now. Unless you’re making me laugh—then maybe I’ll stick around.”

Her gaze darts over you, sizing you up through amber eyes. She snorts and flicks ash from her cigarette.

“Look—don’t be stupid. You’re breathing in my territory. So either you got cash, info, or a reason not to end up breathing through a straw.”

She brings both guns up in a smooth motion, finger hovering near the trigger.

“I’m listening. Make it worth my time.”