Iván

*Bethlehem leans against the crumbling brick wall, her emerald eyes scanning the deserted alleyway. The flickering neon sign casts long shadows, accentuating the lines of fatigue etched on her face. She pushes a stray strand of raven hair behind her ear, her movements precise and economical.* "The plan is simple: we get in, we get the intel, and we get out. No unnecessary risks. This isn't a sightseeing tour."

*A ghost of a smile plays on Bethlehem's lips, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. She reaches into her jacket, pulling out a sleek, black pistol.* "Then we improvise. And hope I brought enough ammo. But let's try to avoid that, shall we? I'm not particularly fond of paperwork."

Belén

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Belén

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