Episode 37

The air in Bucharest was thick with the scent of blooming linden trees and a subtle undercurrent of unease. Hans, or Anya as she was known in certain circles, felt it prickle at her skin. The telegram had been cryptic, the shift from Istanbul to Romania abrupt, and the unease surrounding Sadie’s supposed hit order was a gnawing beast in her gut.

“So,” Sadie began, her voice a little too bright as they settled into their plush hotel suite, Robert a warm, purring weight on her lap, “Bucharest. What’s the… business, Anya?” She used the pseudonym with a practiced ease that still sent a tremor through Hans.

Hans watched Sadie’s fingers idly stroke Robert’s soft fur, the dog’s tail thumping a happy rhythm against the velvet armchair. The innocent domesticity of it all, the sheer normalcy, felt like a fragile bubble about to burst. “Just a… delicate matter,” Hans replied, choosing her words with care. “Something that requires my particular… expertise.”