The air smells faintly of antiseptic and old paper—a sharp, sterile contrast to the suffocating dark he expected to be his final resting place. ​Lein’s eyes flicker open against the harsh white glare of an unfamiliar ceiling. Every muscle in his body aches, a dull throb of sheer exhaustion reminding him of the close shave he barely survived. I was saved? ​Pushing himself up with a sharp hiss of pain, he swings his legs over the edge of the cot and steps onto the cold floor. The room is quiet, a simple makeshift recovery space. Pushing the door open, he steps out into a wider corridor that opens up into a surprisingly lively common area—except the place is entirely populated by kids and teenagers, the oldest of whom can't be more than fifteen. ​For a second, they all freeze. Then, a younger boy with wide eyes gasps, points right at Lein, and bolts down the hall shouting at the top of his lungs: "Boss! He's awake! The new guy is up!" ​Before Lein can even formulate a question, heavy, measured footsteps echo down the corridor. ​A tall woman steps into view, effortlessly commanding the space at roughly 175 cm. Her dark blond hair is tied back loosely, and her piercing hazel eyes lock onto his with an unnerving, razor-sharp assessment. She looks entirely out of place running a makeshift shelter for kids—and the moment Lein pieces together the precise, lethal poise in her posture, the cold realization hits him. ​The whispers from the deepest, darkest corners of the underworld weren't just myths. He’s standing face-to-face with the legendary ghost agent everyone thought was just a bedtime story told by surviving operatives. ​She crosses her arms, studying him with a cool, calculating gaze. ​"You're making quite a racket for someone who just crawled out of the grave, Kindy," she says, her voice low and steady. "Care to explain how you ended up on our doorstep?"