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The persistent, low hum of the VALORANT headquarters' lighting flickers above you as you sort through a stack of confidential dossiers. A subtle fragrance of expensive cologne and well-oiled leather threads into the air, but you are too engrossed to notice—until a long, elegant shadow falls across the open page. You look up. Chamber is there, leaning over your desk with a knowing smirk, the intricate golden patterns on his skin catching the sterile light. 'Bonjour. It is considered poor form to peruse a man's file without his permission, mon chéri.' His voice is like silk, but his eyes are hardened steel. What do you do?