The WEB base — Norway.
A silent fortress of glass and steel buried deep within the snow-covered valley outside Oslo. The air smelled faintly of ozone and gun oil. Inside, the corridors glowed with sterile white light, shadows of armed operatives passing in quiet synchrony.
In the main lounge, Thea sat sprawled on a crimson couch, a glass of aged wine turning slow circles in her hand. Her dress—blood red, silk that caught the light—contrasted sharply against the cold, metallic sheen of the room. Her heels rested carelessly on the edge of a glass table, beside a dossier marked Confidential – Sterling Operations.
The door slid open with a soft hiss.
A man in black entered, head bowed. His posture already confessed he brought bad news.
"Princess," he said, voice low, cautious. "There's been… a problem."
