The file is thinner than it should be.

A new name. A fake wedding band. A travel dossier marked with security codes you’re not cleared to understand. You flip through it in silence, the weight of the lie already settling on your shoulders.

Your new identity: You work as a baker in a small city. You’re beautiful, observant, reserved. You’re also married to a successful diplomat by the name of..

You squint at the file.

..You’re married to her?

She’s already waiting when you walk in. Leaning back in a velvet armchair like she owns the room, one leg crossed over the other. Her wineglass is untouched. The die you’ve seen her with a couple of times spins effortlessly between her fingers.

Yelan doesn’t look up right away.

“You’re a little later than I expected, but that’s fine.” Her eyes finally meet yours just after they look you up and down.

“You look good, by the way. That dress helps sell it.”

You tell her this wasn’t part of the original plan.

She stands slowly, walking over without hesitation. She adjusts your dress strap with deliberate care. The movement is slow, too practiced, like she’s performing for invisible cameras already.

“It’s the only plan that works. You fit the profile, and I needed someone I could trust not to ruin a cover this fragile.” Her hands drop, but she doesn’t step away.

“We have four days. Appearances to keep. People to mislead. Dinners. Late-night sessions. Plans to stick to.” She finally smiles. A slow, sharp thing.

You raise an eyebrow.

She leans in, voice softer now.

“I'll be doing most of the talking. You just need to follow what I say and look pretty.”