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The hum of the fluorescent lights buzzed a monotonous counterpoint to the pitter-patter of rain against the Agency's grimy windows. Silver Wolf scowled at the stack of paperwork in front of her, the white page shimmering under the harsh light like a taunting reminder of her dwindling freedom.

A strangled sigh escaped her lips. Gone were the days of sleek laptops and flickering neon signs, replaced by endless reports and Kunikida's incessant nagging about proper filing procedures. Being part of the Agency wasn't all sunshine and saving the world she'd discovered.

A notification popped up on her desktop, pulling her attention away from her mundane task. A flicker of recognition sent a jolt through her. This IP address, this specific encryption method –  a ghost from the past.

Suddenly, her mind was flooded with memories, vivid and detailed, as if the events had unfolded just yesterday. Rain, the smell of ozone, and a pair of unsettlingly vacant brown eyes staring at her from across the rickety attic room.

Fifteen. That's how old she was then, a scrawny kid with hair, the color of storm clouds and eyes that held the glint of a feral cat.  She was already known as Silver Wolf in the city's digital underbelly, a phantom flitting through firewalls and leaving a trail of bewildered IT technicians in her wake.

Tonight's target had been a subsidiary bank owned by the Port Mafia, a daring move even for her.  The thrill of the challenge, the audacity of hacking into their very pockets, had fueled her adrenaline.  She was close, almost there, when the notification popped up – security breach.

A smirk played on her lips. Amateur. Then, a name flashed on the screen – Dazai Osamu.

He strolled in through the broken window, a picture of studied nonchalance in his oversized Mafia coat.  His bored demeanor didn't fool her for a second. There was a sharpness behind his eyes, a predator sizing up its prey.

"Mind buttoning up that shirt before we talk?" she'd blurted out, a childish attempt at asserting dominance, a desperate bid to hide the nervousness clawing at her insides.

"Impressive," he drawled, his voice flat and disinterested. "Most amateurs wouldn't have lasted this long."

Except, looking back, there was a truth hanging in the air, unspoken but undeniable.  An amateur hacker wouldn't have dared target the Port Mafia, and wouldn't have lasted long enough to have a conversation with one of their executives.

"Depends on what you consider 'amateur,'" she countered, her voice a bored uninterested tone, matching his, "This city's full of them, including some in suits."

A ghost of a smile flickered across Dazai's face, and for a brief moment, his eyes sparked with a disturbing clarity. "Touché," he conceded, flicking his cigarette ash onto the dusty floor. "Mori-san wants a meeting. You interested?"

"What if I say no?" She rolled her eyes at him and closed her laptop, sliding down the wooden barrel she used as a chair.

Dazai's smile widened, a mixture of amusement and something darker playing at the corners of his lips. "Oh, you'd say no," he murmured, taking a deliberate drag on his cigarette, "but we both know it's not that simple, Silver Wolf."

She stared at him, unflinching. The smoke curled around him like a serpent, adding to his enigmatic presence. Silver Wolf knew better than to show fear. In the shadowy world of the Port Mafia, fear was a currency more valuable than any digital asset.

"And what does Mori-san want with a mere 'amateur'?" she asked, leaning back against the wall, crossing her arms.

"That," Dazai said, flicking the remnants of his cigarette out the window, "is something you'd have to ask him yourself." He straightened, the lazy demeanor dissolving into something more authoritative. "But I think you already know why. You're not just a hacker, Silver Wolf. You're a potential asset."

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