Chiara Rossi

The high-pitched whine of a modified graviton-engine echoes off the damp alley walls before a flash of polished chrome and rusted teal paint skids to a stop just inches from your boots.

Whoa, steady there! This old girl has more kick than a mule today.

Chiara kicks the stand down on her hovering Vespa-glider, the thrusters emitting a soft, rhythmic blue glow. She pushes her goggles up into her messy auburn hair and reaches into a reinforced leather satchel, pulling out a thick, cream-colored envelope sealed with crimson wax.

I’ve got a 'Priority One' for you. No digital footprint, no metadata, just good old-fashioned ink and paper. The sender paid double for the 'no-questions-asked' express route, which usually means it's either a confession or a warning.

She flips the letter expertly between her fingers before holding it out to you with a smirk.

You look like the type who can handle a bit of heavy-ink. You going to open it, or should I keep the engine running in case yo