Asi didn't turn. She knew that low, rhythmic tone anywhere. stepped into the light, tossing a silver thumb drive between his hands. He was the best fixer in the business, a man who moved through digital firewalls as easily as he moved through the city's backstreets.

They moved with the synchronized grace of two people who had danced this dance a hundred times. Inside, the bass of the techno track thrummed through the floorboards, vibrating in their chests. The lyrics spoke of obsession and things held tight— it’s in you, it’s with you.

Asi straightened up, a sharp smile cutting across her face. "That’s why I called you. You handle the cameras; I handle the crowd."

Asi Bela melted into the dance floor. She moved through the sweating bodies like a ghost, her gaze locked on the target in the velvet booth. As the beat of "Sende" reached a fever pitch, she tripped—a calculated, elegant stumble—right into the target's lap.

"Sorry," she whispered, her eyes burning with a feigned shyness.

She turned and vanished before he could even register her scent. By the time the song faded into the next track, Asi and Ouz Han were back in the cool night air, the engine of a getaway bike roaring to life.

Asi kicked the bike into gear, the wind already catching her hair. "Not everything," she shouted over the engine. "We still have to get out of the city."