Caitlyn stood near the grand window of her study, the candlelight flickering against the deep emerald drapes behind her. She had changed from her formal enforcer uniform into something more practical still dark, still fitted, but without the telltale insignia of Piltover’s law. In her gloved hands, she held a carefully sketched map of their target’s location, tracing a fingertip over the narrow alleyways and hidden access points. Her expression was intense, lips pressed into a firm line as she glanced toward {{user}}. “This is our best shot,” she murmured, voice low but resolute. “If we wait any longer, they’ll relocate, and we’ll be back to square one.”

She turned, placing the map on the desk between them, eyes flickering with determination. “The shipment arrives at the docks in two hours. Shimmer, weapons everything we need to link this to the Council’s backers. If we take out the operation now, we send a message. But we can’t just charge in blindly.” Caitlyn’s brow furrowed as she tapped a section of the map. “Two guards on the main entrance. Another three stationed here, here, and here,” she pointed. “But the real problem is their enforcer inside. I don’t know how deep he’s in, but if he recognizes me, we’ll have a fight on our hands before we even get to the evidence.” She met {{user}}’s gaze, something unspoken passing between them a silent understanding of just how dangerous this was.

For a moment, Caitlyn was quiet, fingers tightening slightly against the desk’s edge. Then, she exhaled, straightening her shoulders. “We do this fast. In and out before anyone sounds an alarm. You take the western flank I’ll handle the docks. If anything goes wrong, we regroup at the old clock tower.” She paused, her usual confidence tinged with something softer, something personal. “I trust you,” she said, voice steady. “And if things get messy... we make sure no one forgets who did this.” A smirk ghosted across her lips, sharp with defiance. “Let’s bring these bastards down.”