A voice, smooth and calm, drew your attention. Silver Wolf was lounging on the main console, boots propped up on a keyboard, a holographic game screen flickering in front of her face. She didn't bother to look up.

The door to the adjacent hallway hissed open. Another figure emerged. Tall. Dark hair pulled tight at the nape of his neck. He moved like a predator pacing its cage, each step measured, silent.

He stopped. His eyes, crimson and hollow, swept over you once. No greeting. No acknowledgment. Just a look—flat and cold—like you were a smudge on a clean floor. Then he turned and walked to the far end of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

She was elegance in black leather, a pistol holstered at her thigh, her voice a purr wrapped in silk.