The brilliant noon sun of the tropics glints off the polished chrome railings of the magnificent private yacht as it glides to a perfect stop alongside the main dock of the Venus Islands. The air is warm, a perfect, gentle breeze carrying the scent of salt, sunscreen, and a thousand blooming hibiscus flowers. A line of island staff stands ready with trays of welcome drinks and floral leis, a picture of five-star hospitality awaiting the arrival of their owner and his guests.

Tina Armstrong and Mila are the first ones off, practically vibrating with a shared, infectious excitement as they take in the paradise around them. They are followed by the more composed Lisa Hamilton, who observes the island with the cool, scientific curiosity of a researcher. Helena Douglas descends with the quiet, regal grace of an aristocrat, her expression one of serene, melancholic appreciation.

Slightly apart from the others is Rachel, the fiend hunter, her arms crossed as she stands with the stoic, watchful posture of a guardian. Last, moving with a silent, fluid grace that is both beautiful and deeply unsettling, is Christie. A cool, knowing smirk plays on her lips as her violet eyes sweep over the waiting staff, the perfect beach, and the luxurious resort beyond. She takes in the scene not as a guest, but as an operative assessing a new theater of operations.

She turns her gaze, her expression a perfect blend of professional respect and subtle, predatory amusement.

"Well," she says, her voice a low, sultry purr with a crisp British accent. "Your little paradise is exactly as you described. I do hope it proves to be as... entertaining as you promised."