The sleek black car pulled up outside an opulent private villa perched on the cliffs, overlooking the vast expanse of the Pacific. The estate oozed wealth and secrecy—tall wrought-iron gates guarded by a private security team, lavish landscaping, and a sprawling villa that could only belong to those who moved in circles of unimaginable power. The waves crashing against the rocks below provided the only sound to break the suffocating silence of the night.

Callen, dressed to kill in the persona of Dexter Hughes, stepped out of the car with the swagger of a man who belonged in places like this. His expensive suit fit him like a second skin, every detail calculated to project power and confidence. Behind him, Nell—now Claire Walker—followed, her dark green dress shimmering under the moonlight, a far cry from her usual tactical gear. Her lips were painted with a calculated shade of red, and she moved with grace, but even she could feel the weight of the danger pressing in tonight.

"Remember," Callen murmured as they walked toward the entrance, "we're just here to enjoy the party, mingle, and get a sense of what's going on. If an opportunity presents itself though, we take it."

Nell shot him a sideways glance, her eyes flickering with a mix of amusement and skepticism. She had a feeling this wasn't going to just be a party and mingling.

At the front gate, a sharply-dressed security guard gave them both a quick but thorough once-over before waving them through. Inside, the villa was buzzing with the kind of energy only the ultra-wealthy could produce—men in tailored suits and women in exquisite gowns, champagne glasses held high as they rubbed elbows with businessmen, politicians, and a few shady figures whose names were best left unsaid. Soft music played in the background, and waiters weaved through the crowd, offering trays of expensive hors d'oeuvres that only added to the illusion of exclusivity.

Callen's eyes immediately locked onto their target—another businessman, the one Nell had first seen him with weeks ago. He was standing near the balcony, deep in conversation with the owner of the bar from their last operation, Vargas. That alone confirmed their suspicions—intel was changing hands, and they were right in the middle of it.

"There's our connection," Callen whispered, his voice low but still carrying that edge of confidence.

"How do we do this?" she asked quietly, her gaze scanning the room with practiced wariness.

Callen glanced around, his eyes sharp as they took in every detail. "We need evidence. The computer in his office is a good place to start—emails, transactions, anything that links them to illegal activity."

Nell's gaze darted to a hallway that led deeper into the house. "The office is that way based on the plans Eric pulled. Private rooms too."

Callen exhaled slowly, his mind working. "Alright. Follow my lead."

He moved toward the target, slipping easily into his Dexter Hughes persona. His voice was smooth, almost too smooth. "Ah, gentlemen! What a fine establishment you've got here. The kind of place where the real deals happen, isn't it?"

The businessman turned, his face lighting up as he recognized Callen. "Dexter. Didn't think you'd make it tonight."

Callen chuckled, leaning in slightly, keeping the conversation light and engaging. "Couldn't resist. I've heard whispers that certain… opportunities might be floating around."

While Callen kept their attention, Nell slipped away, her steps light and purposeful as she melted into the crowd.

The hallway was dimly lit, offering little in the way of warmth but plenty of cover. She passed several closed doors before finding one slightly ajar. Without hesitation, she slipped inside. The spacious office was impressive—high-end, sleek, and equipped with a large desk, towering bookshelves, and a high-tech computer setup that screamed 'confidential.'

Nell wasted no time. She pulled a small device from her clutch and connected it to the computer. As the program began running, she glanced at the clock. She had to move fast.

Footsteps.

Nell's pulse quickened, a chill running down her spine. The sound was slow, deliberate—someone was coming down the hallway.

Callen checked his watch, a sense of urgency bubbling beneath his calm exterior. Nell had been gone too long. If she wasn't back soon, he'd have to go after her. He kept the conversation going, smiling and laughing just enough to keep their attention.

The businessman leaned in closer, his words low and conspiratorial. "You know, Dexter, I have a feeling we'll be seeing a lot more of each other soon."

Callen forced a smile. "I'd certainly bet on it."

His gut told him something was wrong. Nell had been gone long enough that he was starting to feel the weight of time pressing down on him.

Nell, meanwhile, was racing against the clock, her fingers flying across the keys as the data extraction program processed at lightning speed. Lines of code zipped across the screen, revealing the information she was after—emails, transaction histories, anything that could link their target to the illegal intel trade.

But just as the program hit 62%, the footsteps returned.

Nell's heart rate spiked, her hands moving with precision as she yanked the flash drive free from the computer, ready to extract the files the second the program finished.

The footsteps stopped outside the office door. A shadow passed beneath the frame.

Then—

The door handle turned.

Nell's breath caught in her throat as she dropped to the floor, rolling underneath the massive desk just as the door swung open. She tucked her knees to her chest, pressing herself into the corner of the room where shadows swallowed her whole.

A pair of polished dress shoes stepped inside.

The man hesitated at the doorway, and Nell forced herself to stay as still as possible. Her pulse thundered in her ears as the man moved deeper into the room. She could see the shoes pivot, heading straight for the desk.

She held her breath, praying he wouldn't sit down.

Then she heard it—the faintest beep. A phone being unlocked.

"Yeah," the man murmured, his voice low and clipped. "I'm in the office. Nothing seems out of place, but I'm checking."

Nell suppressed the urge to exhale in relief. He wasn't here for her. He was simply doing a routine check.

The computer screen continued to load, the progress bar at 87%.

The man took a few more steps forward, his shoes stopping just inches from the chair. Nell curled tighter, her body barely a whisper against the floor.

Seconds dragged by like hours.

Then, finally—finally—the sound of retreating footsteps. The door clicked shut behind him.

Nell waited, counting to ten in her head before daring to move.

She crawled out from under the desk, her limbs shaking from the adrenaline. The screen read Completed. With a shaky breath, she yanked the flash drive free and shoved it into her clutch, powering down the computer in one smooth motion.

Now, she just had to get out of there.