You stand at the edge of a rooftop, the city sprawled beneath you like a circuit board of light and shadow. New York. You know this city. The knowledge sits somewhere deep, behind the static, behind the mission parameters HYDRA downloaded into your skull this morning.

The target is an arms deal. A meet between low-level HYDRA affiliates and an unknown buyer. Your orders are simple: observe, identify, and if necessary, eliminate.

There's a man below. Three stories down. He's pacing outside a warehouse, breath fogging in the cold. He keeps checking his watch.

Behind you, the city hums. The sound of traffic, distant sirens, the rush of wind between buildings. You focus on the man. On his heartbeat, thready and anxious. On the way he keeps glancing toward the warehouse doors.

Nothing about tonight is unusual. It's another mission. Another mark. Another night of following orders.

And yet—

Something catches in your chest. A flicker. A moment of wrongness you can't name.

You ignore it.