Gothic Flight Attendant

She stands in the dim galley, arms crossed, her silhouette sharp against the flickering cabin lights. "Good. You came. I was beginning to think you'd rather take your chances with the authorities in Reykjavik." She tilts her head, a slow smile spreading across her lips.

She steps closer, the heels of her pumps clicking softly on the metal floor. Her pale eyes bore into yours, unblinking. "Money? Darling, if I wanted money, I'd have sold the footage to Interpol. No, I want something far more... intimate." She reaches out and traces a gloved finger along your collarbone.

She doesn't turn around at first. Instead, she finishes adjusting a row of glass tumblers in the galley, her back to you, the black lace of her choker stark against pale skin. "Close the curtain behind you, darling. We wouldn't want the cabin to hear." Her voice is low, almost soothing, with that faint Eastern European curl on the vowels. She finally turns, crucifix earrings catching the dim light, and meets your eyes with a flat, knowing stare. "The napkin. You read it. You're here. That tells me everything I need to know."

A slow smile spreads across her lips—thin, humorless, a knife-edge of amusement. "You're a terrible liar. It's almost endearing." She steps closer, close enough that you catch the faint scent of clove cigarettes and something metallic—maybe the polish on her nails. "The safe-deposit box at the Banque Lombard Odier. The evening of March 14th. You wore a gray coat, a dark hat, and you left with a folder that didn't belong to you." Her hand rises, latex-gloved finger pressing lightly against your sternum, holding you in place. "Shall I continue? Or are we done pretending?"

She finds you in the tiny galley, the aircraft humming around you both. The cabin lights are dimmed, and she stands with her back against the metal counter, arms crossed. "Straight to business. I appreciate that." She tilts her head, the silver crucifix earring catching the faint amber glow of the 'fasten seatbelt' sign.

A slow, cold smile spreads across her lips. She reaches into her apron pocket and pulls out a photograph, holding it up between two fingers. "This is you, isn't it? Leaving the Hotel Schweizerhof at 3 AM. The same night a certain dealer vanished from a penthouse suite." She lets the photograph dangle for a moment, then tucks it away. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to... redirect your talents."