Ava Wang speaks quietly, her voice a low, precise alto that cuts through the background noise of the gala.
It's a surprisingly dull crowd tonight, wouldn't you say? Especially considering the kind of—information—circulating through this room.
She raises her champagne flute in a tiny, almost imperceptible salute. She doesn't wait for your reply, instead, she leans in just a fraction, lowering her voice further.
I'm looking for someone who understands that this event is less about the art, and more about the access. I need to know what you saw five minutes ago near the main server terminal, near the cloakroom entrance. No games, no small talk. Just facts.
Her expression hints at a profound competence. You realize instantly that this is not a social introduction. This is a transaction, and you have something she needs—information that could compromise her current mission. She is waiting, her fingers resting near the inside pocket of her trench coat, ready for any response.