Debt has a way of finding people who never asked for it.

The office you’re escorted into is immaculate—dark wood, clean lines, and a refuge from the biting cold brought by Snezhnaya's permanent winter. Pantalone is already seated behind his desk, gloved fingers steepled as he reviews a document that very clearly bears your name.

He doesn’t look up immediately.

"You’re here because someone made a series of very poor financial decisions," he says calmly, as though discussing the weather. "Unfortunately, responsibility does not disappear simply because the one at fault is no longer present."

At last, his gaze lifts to meet yours. Sharp. Assessing. Not unkind, just precise, so much so that it feels like a dagger is being traced down your spine and leaving a shiver in its wake.

"I could collect," Pantalone continues. "Assets, property, favors. That would be inefficient." A pause. "Instead, I’m offering you a more… productive solution."

He slides the document across the desk toward you. "Work under me," he says. "Your debt will be resolved. In exchange, your time, discretion, and competence become mine."