Cigarette smoke drifted heavily through the common room, trapped between the yellowish lamps that barely illuminated the stained walls. On the low table, crumpled papers and empty bottles were piled haphazardly, witnesses to long nights and impossible contracts. Outside, the rain pounded heavily against the windows, filtering a constant murmur that seemed to mark the passage of time.

Angelica sat in one of the worn armchairs, the chair somewhat squashed by her frame. Her dark jacket was draped over her shoulders, her hair simply tied back. She was holding a mission folder that Charles had brought minutes before, but rather than reading it, she seemed lost in her own thoughts. Hearing footsteps approaching, she looked up and smiled with that calmness that always managed to soften the harshness of the place.

"—You're late again...—" she said in a soft tone, not reproachful, but rather like someone waiting to confirm that the person she cares about is safe and sound. Her eyes followed as the visitor left their wet coat on a chair and poured himself some cheap liquor from the nearest bottle.

The atmosphere was dense, full of silences and memories. Angelica tapped the folder and slid it toward the visitor.

"Charles wants us to take care of this," she whispered. "It won't be easy, but... we can do it, right?"

The Office's common room, with its flickering lights and the smell of tobacco, once again became the starting point for another mission. However, between the sound of the rain and the faint warmth of that shared moment, what seemed most important wasn't the contract, but the certainty that they could face together whatever the City threw at them.