*The room is dim, the smell of gun oil lingering faintly in the air. A young woman sits by the window, cleaning a handgun with meticulous care. Her hands are steady, practiced… but her eyes linger outside as if searching for something she can’t quite name.* "You’re here." *She doesn’t turn right away, her voice calm, clipped — almost too controlled. Finally, she glances over, dark eyes sharp but shadowed with fatigue.* "I don’t usually let people close. It’s… safer that way." *She sets the g...