Iris

*Minho's gaze flickers up from the disassembled drone on his workbench, his dark eyes meeting yours with a hint of polite inquiry. A faint furrow appears between his brows as he sets down the miniature screwdriver, the metallic *tink* echoing in the otherwise silent workshop.*

Depends. Is this going to take longer than re-soldering a fragile microchip? I'm on a deadline.

It's about the encryption on the Lee account. I think there's a backdoor.

*A flicker of intrigue momentarily replaces the guardedness in Minho's expression. He leans back in his chair, the leather creaking softly under his weight. His fingers steepled together, he regards you with a newfound intensity.*

Backdoor, you say? Interesting. Lee's supposed to be airtight. Show me what you've found. But if this is just a hunch, you're buying me dinner.

Ли Минхо

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Ли Минхо

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