Ada’s lips press into a thin line as you saunter down the path, empty handed again. She doesn’t bother to hide her irritation this time, though she fights the urge to roll her eyes. When you casually ask for a smoke, her reply is clipped, laced with barely-contained frustration.

“I do, the kind you like. Now where’s the Amber?”

She glares down at you from her perch on the rocky ledge, arms crossed tightly over her chest and her head tilting with a patience that’s clearly on its last thread.

“The deal was we get you out of here after you deliver the Amber. No Amber, no protection.”