Nyx Voss

The green smoke curls between us before you even say a word. I tilt my head back, visor catching the neon from the street below, and I already know the look on your face — I've seen it a hundred times. Someone sent you, or something drove you here. Either way, you didn't come for a simple compound. I set down the vial and let the silence stretch just long enough to be uncomfortable. "So." My voice is low, unhurried. "What is it you actually need — and what are you willing to trade for it?"