The Red-Light Area was a suffocating sensory overload. Julian had commanded her to conduct the meeting in the daylight, and the afternoon sun only served to strip the place bare, revealing the quiet, sordid decay beneath the neon promises. Anya noted the low foot traffic, realizing Julian's caution was less about strategy and more about the innate predatory chaos the night would bring to an unaccompanied woman.
She followed the coded signal's response to a discreet club entrance near the district's power grid.
The heavy velvet door opened into a large, empty lounge. The air inside was thick with stale smoke and the chemical scent of disinfectant. Only two members of staff were present, silently clearing bottles while music played softly—a melancholy loop of synth-jazz. The entire space felt vast and waiting.
Anya placed the heavy case of currency on a small, round table and stood by it, maintaining her rigid posture. After a moment, a door at the rear of the lounge opened.
The woman Julian owed walked out.
She had shed the practical wear of the alley fight. She was now dressed in silk that appeared dark as dried blood in the dim light, cut to highlight the powerful, confident angles of her frame. Her hair, the color of a setting sun, framed eyes that were unnervingly crimson, matching the aesthetic of the club's lighting accents—the color of a blood moon. She radiated a deliberate, focused dominance.
"Please, sit," the woman commanded, gesturing to the opposite chair before taking her own. She eyed Anya with genuine amusement, feigning deep disappointment. "I am disappointed. I truly thought the great Chief Strategist would come himself."
Anya accepted the insult without reaction and sat, her eyes fixed on the woman. "I thank you on behalf of Mr. Valemont for your actions last week. He acknowledges the debt." Anya's voice was diplomatic, cold, and professional. "My name is Anya Petrova."
The woman smiled, her crimson eyes holding Anya's gaze, the smile itself a promise of something dangerous. "We can skip the formalities, Miss Petrova. You know who I am. Use my name. It's Selene D'Argent."
"Ms. D'Argent," Anya corrected smoothly. "The purpose of this meeting is twofold. First, to settle the debt accrued during the previous week." She gestured to the case. "Second, to negotiate immediate access to the structure you control."
Selene barely glanced at the case. She laughed—a brittle, dry sound. "Money is what the other side pays. Your employer is the Chief Strategist. He operates on pride, not currency. That debt is merely an entrance fee. And it is rejected." She leaned forward, suddenly seductive, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "What I require is something he has never paid: service."
Anya remained unmoved. "Be specific, Ms. D'Argent. What service does the Chief Strategist of the State Armory owe a woman in the RLA?"
Selene's smile faded slightly, replaced by a calculating look. "The Shadow Cartel is not subtle. While they are siphoning data through my territory, they are simultaneously expanding their physical presence. They are investing heavily in the dominant gang here—using them to extract money and impose crippling control over legitimate RLA businesses. The local police are unwilling or unable to control it. This destruction of order threatens my stability."
She looked directly at Anya, her eyes sharp. "Your Chief Strategist is obsessed with leaks and national strategy. Tell him this: Protect the RLA from the Cartel's physical expansion. Eliminate their local revenue pipeline and break the gang they are using as their proxy force."
Anya's composure fractured, only by a tightening around her eyes. "You are aware that Mr. Valemont is currently under heavy Protective Security Detail surveillance by Superintendent Vance? He is essentially caged. Your request is a political impossibility."
Selene shrugged, completely unfazed. "That is his problem, not mine. The debt requires effort, Miss Petrova, not simple paperwork." She then offered a dazzling, yet utterly controlled smile. "However, if he accepts the service, he gains far more than a clean slate. He gains proof that the Cartel's roots are here, directly connected to his system. I will provide him with exclusive operational intelligence on the Cartel's uplink and their local structure. This mission is a clean, strategic win for both of us."
Anya stood, realizing she had been comprehensively outmaneuvered. "I will deliver the message."
"Tell him I'll give him three days to decide," Selene said, standing to tower over the small table. "Three days for him to understand what it feels like to be beholden to the chaos he despises."
In a temporary operations room deep inside the police headquarters' basement—a bare room dominated by a single projector—Superintendent Vance leaned over a massive topographical map of the Valemont estate. The map was annotated with red circles marking known surveillance blind spots, and yellow arrows indicating potential approach vectors. The light from the projector illuminated the exhaustion etched into Vance's face.
Officer Kael and two grim-faced sergeants flanked the table. The clock on the wall read 17:45. The sun was dipping toward the horizon.
"Talk to me about the roofline," Vance demanded, tracing the edge of the estate's west wing with a stylus. "The assassin's vehicle, C-11-209-E, established its holding pattern three miles out. It's too far for a pistol, which means they're using precision hardware, likely a long-distance kinetic rifle."
A Sergeant pointed to a small rise overlooking the perimeter wall. "Sir, the best line of sight is from this old water tower, five hundred meters out. It gives a clean shot through the library window, straight at Valemont's usual desk position."
Vance shook his head sharply. "Too obvious. The PSD has that covered. They want a clean kill, which means they need surprise and speed. Look closer to the perimeter. The forest is too dense."
Kael spoke up, tapping a point on the map near the main power substation. "Sir, there's a derelict utility building, fifty meters outside the eastern perimeter fence. It's technically off the property, but it's structurally sound. No line of sight from the ground, but the roof is only slightly elevated. It's the only place they could get a clear, unobstructed angle without being visible from the main road."
Vance slammed his hand down near the substation icon. "That's it. It's just close enough to ensure a confirmed kill and gives them a quick escape route into the urban grid. They don't care about a shootout, they care about the contract. Kael, I need a team moving on that substation now."
Vance straightened, running a hand over his face. "We are protecting a man who considers us an annoyance while he schemes about a leak connected to the slums. We don't have time for the political crap." He looked at the three officers, his eyes intense. "If that shot is fired, the state collapses into pandemonium. Forget the red tape. We have thirty minutes before dark. We've got to stop it."