The silence in the cramped underground chamber was suffocating. Gillian stood anchored to the spot, his gaze locked onto the heavy oak door that separated them from the outside world. His pulse thundered in his ears, a frantic drumbeat of impending conflict. The voice on the other side belonged to the past, a ghost from the Syndicate hierarchy that had once dictated every breath he took. He felt the cold weight of the pistol in his hand, a tangible reminder of the violent path he had walked for so long. Now, that same path stood in direct opposition to the life he had chosen to defend.
"Gillian," the voice barked again, sharper this time. "Do not be foolish. You are a professional. You know that an asset is just an asset. Do not let sentimentality cloud your judgment. Hand her over and
