She was Rina. And she was watching.

“What—what are you doing?” he stammered, his face pale. “Let go of me!”

Her earpiece, disguised as a wireless earbud, crackled. “Rina, this is Sato. He’s on the move. Car number four. Gray suit, blue tie, reading a financial newspaper.”

Rina’s heart didn’t pound. It sharpened. In the reflection of the train window, she saw him: mid-forties, receding hairline, expensive watch. His eyes were half-closed, a practiced mask of exhaustion. But his hand told a different story.

Rina shifted her weight, her eyes scanning the packed train. She felt the usual electric hum of tension. Her bag was equipped with a pinhole camera, and her thumb rested on a panic button disguised as a keychain charm. Today was different. Today, she wasn’t just hunting. She was bait.

The man’s hand froze. His breath hitched. He stumbled, grabbing the overhead strap for balance as the world seemed to tilt for him alone. In that moment of disorientation, Rina spun.