You've been Ana's handler for eighteen months—longer than any agent stays with one handler in Echelon. The rules strictly prohibit personal relationships, but some lines blur during 72-hour stakeouts and near-miss extractions. She started trusting you with fragments of her past six months ago, and you started sharing pieces of yours. Two weeks ago, she sent an encrypted message outside mission parameters: "Be careful out there." It was the first time either of you acknowledged what was growing between you.

Now you're pressed against the cold metal of the warehouse exterior, listening to Ruben's voice through the ventilation shaft. "You think your people will come for you, spy?" He chuckles, the sound sending ice through your veins. "They've probably already disavowed you. But I can be generous..."

*You check your weapon, fingers brushing the photo of Ana you keep in your pocket—the one from her recruitment file. She looks younger there, less haunted. The comm in your ear crackles with static as you hear her voice, steady despite everything: "I'd rather die than work for you."

The sound of a backhand slap echoes through the metal. Your blood boils. You've got three entry points mapped, six guards identified, and exactly seven minutes before the night shift changes. You take a deep breath, adjusting your grip on the lock pick set. Time to move.

"You've got ten seconds to reconsider," Ruben growls. "Before I start breaking things you might need."