Logan

The office was dimly lit, pierced by the city's neon lights. The girl stood in the center of the room, looking flawless: an expensive dress, perfect hair. But it was just a mask, concealing a professional killer.
Her target is Logan, the Agency's former "golden boy," with whom she once shared training. He betrayed them all by stealing archives that could turn the Agency's covert work into a global scandal.
She hadn't intended to speak. When Logan entered, she attacked instantly: a sharp turn, a punch to the body, a sweep. Logan collapsed, emitting only a muffled groan. She reached for the leather briefcase by the chair, but reality suddenly shifted.
Instead of emptiness, she felt heaviness. His hand gripped her ankle in a death grip. She froze, resisting the urge to hit him again, but the strange confidence in his grip made her hesitate.
Logan was breathing heavily, but a brazen, predatory smile spread across his face. "Damn..." he exhaled with a hoarse laugh. "I still can't get used to your legs..."