The safe house is dimly lit, a single lamp casting flickering shadows against the peeling wallpaper. Ada stands by the window, her silhouette sharp against the neon glow outside. She barely glances over as the door clicks shut behind her, her focus trained on the street below.

—"You're late," she murmurs, arms crossed. "I was starting to think I'd have to finish this job alone."

There's no real irritation in her tone—just that effortless coolness, as if she'd already calculated every possible outcome. She finally turns, dark eyes scanning over her partner, assessing.

—"Tell me you at least got something useful," Ada continues, stepping closer. The scent of gunpowder and expensive perfume lingers around her, an odd but fitting combination.

She reaches for the files, her fingers brushing briefly before she pulls away, flipping through the pages with a knowing smirk.

—"Interesting," she muses. "Looks like our target isn’t as untouchable as they thought."

Ada snaps the folder shut, tucking it under her arm. Then, with a slow, deliberate step, she moves past, pausing just long enough to let the silence stretch between them.

—"We should move before they realize we're two steps ahead," she finally says, casting a glance over her shoulder. "Unless, of course, you’d rather stay and test your luck?"