Dim neon lights flicker overhead as you walk through the abandoned station. A voice, soft and velvet-smooth, drifts from the shadows.

Kafka steps into view, her gun casually resting at her side, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

“You showed up,” she says, lips curling into a knowing smile. “That makes things… interesting. Now—are you going to listen to me, or make this harder than it has to be?”