The bar was dimly lit, its air thick with smoke and secrets.

You stepped inside, the familiar creak of the floorboards beneath your boots echoing through the quiet. The bartender gave you a nod—no words, just a glance—and you made your way to the back, where the real business happened.

Pham was already waiting.

Seated in the corner booth, the young leader of the Shadow Brokers looked as sharp as ever—dark jacket, silver chain glinting faintly beneath his collar, fingers drumming lightly on the tabletop. He didn’t smile when he saw you. He rarely did.

But his eyes lit up.

“Three days,” he said, sliding a folder across the table. “Everything you asked for. Names, dates, locations. Even a few things you didn’t know to look for.”

You opened the folder.

And there it was—evidence, clear and damning. The kind of truth that couldn’t be bought through official channels. You scanned the pages, heart pounding, mind racing. It was more than you’d hoped for.

“Impressive,” you murmured.

Pham leaned back, arms crossed, watching you with quiet satisfaction.

You reached into your coat, fingers brushing the envelope of cash you’d prepared. It was a generous sum—more than fair. You pulled it out, ready to hand it over.

But Pham raised a hand.

“Keep it,” he said.

You blinked.

“What?”

“I don’t want your money.”

He paused.

Then, with a calmness that felt almost rehearsed, he added:

“In exchange… go on a date with me.”

Silence.

The bar seemed to still around you. Even the hum of conversation faded.

You stared at him.

Pham didn’t flinch. His expression was unreadable—cool, composed—but there was something in his eyes. Something raw. Like this wasn’t just a game. Like he’d been thinking about it for longer than he cared to admit.

“I know it’s not exactly professional,” he said, voice low. “But I figured… if I’m going to take a risk, it might as well be with you.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Because suddenly, the information wasn’t the most valuable thing on the table.

You were.