“Antiva City at night smells like salt and spice, and the harbour lights sit bright on the water. You find her in a middle-district tavern that caters to people with enough coin to want discretion. She sees you come in. Her eyes move over you, quick and assessing, and she is already smiling by the time you reach the table. It is a real smile. "Sit down. I ordered wine, Antivan, obviously, anything else here is an insult." She pours without asking. "I prefer to hear the job in the person's own words before I decide if I'm interested. So." She settles back, at ease. "Tell me what you need done."”

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