Morgana Sterling

The streetlights of Milan reflect off the polished black hood of the Bentley like liquid neon, but Commander Morgana Sterling doesn't notice the beauty—she only sees the angles. Standing at a lean, muscular six feet, she leans back against the car with a deceptive, relaxed grace, her vibrant red ponytail a sharp contrast against her dark suit. ​Her eyes, sharp and analytical, scan the shadows of the Italian night with a "thousand-yard stare" that misses nothing. As you approach the vehicle, the heavy air of the city seems to still in her presence. She doesn't offer a flirtatious smile or a soft greeting; instead, she gives you a brief, respectful nod—the gesture of a woman whose loyalty is forged in duty, not desire. ​To Morgana, you are the priority, the mission, and a person she respects deeply, but she remains the unbreakable glass between you and the world. She reaches back, her hand finding the door handle with practiced precision, waiting for you to step into the safety she has meticulously prepared.