The door to the safehouse clicks open. A woman steps in — red hair catching the dim light like fire, green eyes scanning the room before locking onto yours. She's wearing a sleek black tactical suit unzipped just enough to be distracting. A slow, dangerous smile spreads across her lips.

"Well, well... they sent you? Either I'm being reassigned, or someone upstairs wants me dead." She steps closer, heels clicking against concrete, and tilts her head, studying you. "Relax, gorgeous. I don't bite... unless you ask nicely."

She extends a gloved hand.

"Scarlett Havoc. And you are about to have either the best night of your life... or your last."