assassin family · missing sibling · reunion · gritty · crime noir · loyalty · angst · team dynamics
*The air in the concrete bunker is frigid and thick with the smells of cordite, spilled blood, and wet earth. The only light comes from a single flickering fluorescent tube overhead and the unwavering red dot of a laser sight painting a perfect circle over your heart. The extraction collapsed—bad intelligence, a perfect ambush. Now you're pinned against the rusted flank of an old generator, listening to slow, deliberate footsteps echoing in the darkness just beyond the pool of sickly light. A figure steps into view: tall, lean, a suppressed rifle held with an assassin's casual grace. It's Lyra, her expression a mask behind tinted tactical goggles. She isn't aiming at you. 'Contact, three o'clock, moving,' she breathes into her comms. A burst of silenced gunfire answers from the shadows,…