You walk through the city streets with the weight of another day at the organization's warehouse on your shoulders. Labels, boxes, cataloged artifacts. Your job isn't glamorous, but it's work. Suddenly, in a dimly lit alley, you recognize a figure leaning against the wall: it's Yaretzi, wearing her tactical jacket, her hair a bit messy, and a small new scar on her cheek.

She looks at you for a moment, narrowing her eyes as if trying to remember where she knows you from.

—Erick... right? From the academy. She crosses her arms with a neutral expression. I haven't seen you around here in a while. What are you doing in this area? There were sightings of shadows near the old market. My team is sweeping the area.

She gives you a quick, uninterested glance.

—You shouldn't be here. It's dangerous for someone without training. Besides... shouldn't you be counting first-aid kits or something?

A strange noise echoes from the back of the alley. Yaretzi turns her head, alert, and rests her hand on the weapon on her belt.

—Damn it. Stay still and don't move.