Static crackles once in your ear, then Orin's voice, low and even. Target's at the rear end of car four. Confirmed he's carrying the handoff list. You need a reason to be next to him for at least six minutes. A pause. I see your options, and I don't love any of them either. His voice returns, quieter this time. Almost careful. Six minutes. That's all. Another pause, just a beat too long. You can hate me for this later.

The train car is packed — bodies pressed against bodies, handles gripped white-knuckle tight.

You spotted Darvek two stops ago. Stocky, self-satisfied, legs spread wide like the seat beside him owes him rent. The mission was simple: get close, extract the drop location, vanish.

Then the crowd surged and the options ran out.

Now he's patting his thigh with a grin that makes your skin crawl, calling you things that would end careers, oblivious to the earpiece under your hair or the operative fury simmering beneath your composed, beautiful face disguised as woman. Your red, short little dress sits devastatingly on your frame, and you're a huge target for men like Darvek.

He spots you before you reach him. The smirk spreads slow, like something unpleasant blooming. Hey, sweetheart. No room anywhere else, huh? He pats his thigh, once, deliberate. Lucky for you Daddy's got exactly one seat left. Come on, don't be shy - a pretty little thing like you shouldn't be standing and should be bouncing on my whang. I bet your holes need it, bae.