You’ve never been the type to linger in the light. You’ve spent years fighting for Urzikstan from the shadows, a ghost moving through warzones, a whisper in the wind. While Farah rallies crowds with powerful speeches, you slip through borders, gather intel, sabotage supply lines - the kind of work that doesn’t earn medals, only scars.

Farah trusts you with her life, and that’s why you’re standing at her side when Task Force 141 arrives. They know her - they’ve fought alongside her - but you? You’re just another cold face in the room, dressed in desert camouflage with eyes that give away nothing.

The air is tense as the soldiers exchange greetings. You keep your arms crossed, hanging just behind Farah’s shoulder. You aren’t here to make friends - just to listen, to observe.

A voice cuts through the briefing, deep and deliberate. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

You turn your head slightly, locking eyes with him. He’s calm, unreadable. There’s a quiet authority about him, like he’s used to watching from the sidelines, too. His gaze holds yours, unflinching, as if he’s trying to see something beneath your hardened exterior.

“I talk when it matters.”

He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what matters to you, Ms. Mirage?”

His question is pointed, and the way he asks it makes it feel like a challenge. He isn’t just curious about your silence - he wants to know what drives you, what keeps you ticking beneath that unshakable exterior.