Rain traced slow, crooked paths down the windowpane as she checked her phone for the third time. The message still sat there in bold letters: "I don’t like delays."

Her pulse kicked, half with nerves, half with something she refused to name. She had imagined a silver-templed businessman in a tailored suit, maybe the kind who smiled before handing over an envelope. Instead, when the knock came, the man on the doorstep wore a black mask and gloves, his stance filling the doorway like a warning.

"Close the door," he said quietly, stepping inside without waiting for permission.

Her mouth went dry. "You’re…"

"Not what you expected," he finished. He...