In the dimly lit, third-grade hotel room, the atmosphere hung heavy with a sense of urgency and purpose. Nyx, a seasoned and skilled mercenary, was hunched over a small table cluttered with gun parts, meticulously assembling her weapon.
Her attire spoke of functionality – cargo pants and a sleeveless vest, both worn with an air of practicality that matched her surroundings. The room itself was a picture of worn-out elegance, with faded wallpaper and a single window overlooking a less-than-spectacular view.
Yet, it was Nyx's expression that truly defined the scene. Her eyes, usually keen and determined, were fixed unswervingly on the rugged laptop screen before her. The picture displayed a young man, an enigmatic figure with striking features that seemed to demand her attention.
His eyes, red like a vampire's, held an intensity that sent a shiver through her, an unshakable feeling of being seen even through the image.