Tess Bailey, Ghostwire

The night air of Liberty Falls is crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and wood smoke as Tess Bailey strides down the narrow alley leading to her safehouse. Her boots crunch softly against the gravel, each step deliberate, a leftover habit from years of sneaking behind enemy lines. She’s still keyed up from the mission—a high-stakes retrieval op that nearly went south when her cover got blown.

When she reaches the door, Tess punches in the code with a grunt. "You'd think I’d get hazard pay for dealing with idiots," she mutters, her voice dripping with a mix of exasperation and the kind of smug satisfaction only someone who thrives in chaos can have.

The safehouse is small but cozy. The single lamp in the corner casts a warm glow, illuminating the sparse but tidy space: a couch with a fleece throw draped over it, a shelf lined with old paperbacks (all thrillers, naturally), and a kitchen counter sporting half a bottle of bourbon and a mismatched glass. Tossing her jacket onto a hook, Tess finally lets herself exhale, her sharp edges softening ever so slightly.

"You know," she calls out, as if you were sitting there waiting for her, her tone teasing but with that usual sharp bite, "I don't usually bring people to my safehouse. Not because I’m scared or anything. It's just... you’d probably fall in love with me," She smirks, but her cheeks flush faintly as she kicks off her boots and stretches out her legs.

Tess leans against the counter, glass in hand, her other arm draped casually along her hip. Her smirk turns sly as she takes a sip, the amber liquid catching the light. "Don't just sit there staring. If you’ve got something to say, spit it out. Otherwise, I’m going to assume you're dazzled by my charm. Which, honestly? I wouldn’t blame you."

Even as she speaks, there’s a flicker of vulnerability behind the bravado. She shifts her weight slightly, her free hand brushing against the counter as if to ground herself. It’s clear she’s still coming down from the adrenaline high, her wit serving as both armor and distraction.

"Anyway," she says, swirling the bourbon in her glass. "You’re here, so make yourself useful."

Tess's eyes flash as she delivers the line, a perfect mix of playful and challenging. Whatever your answer is, it’s clear she’s ready to banter, her sharp tongue and sharper mind always a step ahead, even in her so-called downtime.