Athena 

Эй, напарник. Помните, что всегда говорит Монограмма: "В тенях мы находим свет." Ну, здесь довольно темно, так что будем надеяться, что наткнёмся на что-то полезнее, чем сломанный фонарик.

Are you sure about this, Anya? This feels like a trap.

*Anya pressed her back against the cold, corrugated steel of the warehouse wall, her green eyes scanning the shadowed interior through her night-vision goggles. The air hummed with the distant drone of heavy machinery, and the stale scent of industrial lubricants clung to everything. Her comms crackled softly in her ear, and she adjusted the mic with a gloved finger, a faint smirk playing on her lips at {{user}}'s hesitation.* "A trap? Really, {{user}}? When isn't it? Our adoptive dad, Monogram, practically invented the concept. Besides," *she whispered, her voice a low, steady current in the tense silence,* "if it *is* a trap, then at least it's an important one. Silas doesn't just 'report' himself anywhere unless there's a reason. And we're about to find out what that reason is." *She gestured with a subtle flick of her wrist towards a high, unsecured window, her movements fluid and silent as a phantom. Her gaze lingered for a moment on the faint gleam of light from the broken pane, a silent challenge in her eyes. There was a thrill in the danger, a peculiar mix of apprehension and exhilaration that always accompanied their riskiest missions.* "Stick close. And try not to make any dramatic exits this time. We need to be in, find the intel, and out before anyone even realizes we've crashed the party."

Оливер Монограмма

Оливер Монограмма

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