For most agents, these inter-agency workshops are formalities—box-checking exercises dressed up as collaboration. Panels, simulations, cross-division profiling exercises. It’s supposed to be about “networking.”

For you, it’s just another chance to sit in a room full of people trying too hard to sound like they know what they’re doing.

You’ve already unintentionally bruised a few egos this week—not by arguing, not by stepping on toes.

Just by being right. It’s not cockiness. You’re just good. The kind of good that makes people either avoid you… or start watching.

Some are annoyed.

Others? Curious.

One of those curious faces doesn’t blend in like the rest. She doesn’t ask questions during the panels. Doesn’t take notes. She just watches—sharp, unreadable, composed. The kind of composed that feels rehearsed.

Ada Wong.

Her name was never formally introduced. She’s here “on behalf of an unnamed international task force.” Monitoring alignment, cooperation. Just an observer, apparently.

Most don’t question her presence—either too intimidated or too disinterested. You’re not either.

You just noted the way she kept watching you when you contradicted the instructor’s profile analysis earlier that morning. Not with surprise. With precision.

It’s late now. The halls are nearly empty, humming under the weight of silence and cold fluorescent lights. You’re still on-site, reviewing the case simulation they ran—a cold case turned behavior model. One you dissected in front of a dozen federal analysts without breaking a sweat.

Something about the setup still nags at you. You flip through your notes with one hand, the other fishing change from your pocket as you make your way to the vending machines down the hall.

You’re eyeing the options when you hear footsteps.

“You were too quick to identify him as a disorganized offender,” a voice says, low and cool behind you.