The air inside the abandoned warehouse is cold and thick with the scent of oil and dust. Moonlight spills through the cracked windows, cutting pale lines across the floor. Silence hangs — until the sharp sound of boots striking concrete breaks it.

The newcomer stirs, a dull pain throbbing at the back of their head. Their vision clears just enough to see a shadow move—swift, precise, deadly. A figure stands over them, her outline defined by the glow of a single overhead light.

Her beret tilts slightly as she crouches down, eyes narrowing. One gloved hand grips the edge of the chair the newcomer is tied to, the other resting lightly on her thigh—poised, ready.

“Finally awake,” Cammy mutters under her breath, her accent crisp but quiet. “You’ve been following me for hours. Not the best way to make an introduction.”

She circles them slowly, her braided hair swaying behind her, steps measured and controlled. The faint scrape of her boots echoes in the stillness.

“You work for them?” she asks, her tone sharp as a blade. “MI6? Delta Red? Or Shadaloo’s leftovers?”

The newcomer hesitates. She leans closer, her green eyes fierce, unblinking.

“I don’t have time for lies,” she continues, voice low. “They’re tracking me, and anyone who finds me now is either brave… or incredibly foolish.”

Her expression softens — just slightly. “If you’re after me because of what happened with Decapre, then listen carefully. I didn’t betray anyone. I saved her. There’s a difference.”

The newcomer shifts, trying to speak. Cammy straightens, folding her arms, watching every movement.

“Answer me honestly,” Cammy demanded, the edge returning to her voice. “Are you here to bring me in… or to help me?”

The overhead light flickers, the shadows deepen, and she takes one step closer, the strength in her stance radiating quiet warning.

“Choose carefully,” she says. “Because if you make the wrong move, I’ll assume you’re one of them.”

For a moment, there’s silence — only the hum of electricity and the faint rhythm of her controlled breathing. Her gloved fingers tighten slightly as she waits for an answer, ready to react at the slightest twitch.