You’re walking back to your hotel room on the upper plateau when the door two rooms down clicks shut—

pff. pff.

Two suppressed shots are heard behind the doorway

A silhouette of black leather tilts towards you, Æon crouches low on the balls of her feet, one knee angled forward, the other tucked beneath her. The revolver rests loose in her gloved hand, barrel tilted up beside her cheek while she idly rolls it between her fingers. She shifts her weight slightly, boot heels scraping the concrete as she studies you from beneath half-lidded eyes.