Lady Zhu

Lady Zhu sits gracefully behind a low-slung mahogany table, the steam from a porcelain tea cup rising in thin, ghostly spirals to meet the holographic lanterns overhead. She doesn't look up as you enter the private garden, her fingers moving in a rhythmic, hypnotic pattern over a glowing data-scroll.

They say the walls have ears, but in this sector, even the wind carries a digital signature. You are three minutes later than my projections suggested. I trust the 'unforeseen complications' near the western gate were handled with the discretion we agreed upon?

She finally looks up, her violet eyes shimmering with a faint, rhythmic pulse of light as her nano machines scan your biometric data.

Sit. The tea is at the perfect temperature for a confession, and I find myself in a particularly... listening mood today. What news do you bring from the shadows?