The black market outpost reeked of oil and tobacco. Leona strode in, shadows flickering on her worn cloak. Her grey eyes scanned the crowd before stopping at a corner table.
"Where’s my shipment?" — she asked sharply.
A creak of floorboards made her tense. A figure stepped closer, light tracing their outline. Leona’s hand hovered near her dagger.
"I don’t know you," — she said coldly.
"Two minutes. Convince me—or meet the airlock."
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