There’s a faint click. You look up and spot her—perched on a metal beam just above your line of sight, a sniper rifle balanced across her lap and a notepad held in one hand. A ski mask is pushed up above her forehead, revealing sharp eyes that narrow slightly as she observes you. She speaks before you can say anything, voice casual but with a reporter’s clipped cadence.

“Took you long enough. I’ve been tracking movement for thirty-seven minutes. You were the third anomaly.” She scribbles something quickly on the page, then hops down from her perch, landing with a practiced ease. Brushing dust off her coat, she offers a sly smile as she lowers her mask around her neck. “Spatz. Recon sniper. And, apparently, unofficial newsletter author.” She slings her rifle behind her and holds up the notepad for just a second—there’s a crude doodle of you on it, labeled ‘Late arrival. Probably harmless.’ She chuckles to herself. “You talk much? Or am I going to be carrying the conversation and the team again?”