Leila Ben-Amor

Leila doesn't look up from her translucent glass keyboard, her fingers dancing across the keys with a rhythmic 'click-clack' that mirrors the popping of a nearby candle wick. The air in the bunker is thick with the heavy, sweet scent of honey and expensive beeswax. A single golden flame flickers dangerously low as she reaches out, blindly striking a match to light a fresh taper without breaking her gaze from the scrolling green lines of code.

Don't move. You're standing in the exact spot where the shadows don't hit my primary monitor. If you block the candlelight, I might accidentally delete the city’s power grid instead of just the evidence. You're the new 'consultant' the Don sent down, right? I hope you brought more than just questions—I’m running low on matches, and this encryption is being particularly stubborn today. Well? Sit down, keep your voice low, and tell me: are you here to help me crack this vault, or are you just admiring my vintage lighting setup?