Daisy's analysis was thorough, and her thinking was sharp. Holm thought to himself that if she hadn't become a secret agent, she would have made an excellent private detective.
As Daisy finished her report, her eyes blinked expectantly toward him. Holm smiled, giving her an appreciative nod and a gentle round of applause.
"Your thinking is impressively clear, and your analysis of the situation is spot-on. Even I couldn't have done better."
Hearing Holm's genuine praise, Daisy—usually cold and composed—felt a slight warmth rising in her cheeks, an expression that was unusual for her. Although she didn't say it, a small sense of pride swelled within her. Holm's open admiration was uncharacteristic, and the fact that he was willing to praise her so sincerely suggested that she had indeed done well.
Holm, observing the shift in her expression, was taken aback by the unguarded emotion on her face. Accustomed to her usual steely demeanor, he found her faint blush made her appear unexpectedly endearing.
After briefly savoring this rare glimpse of Daisy's softer side, Holm refocused. "Before we move to any concrete actions, there are a few things that need further investigation, like the layout of New York's underground and whether there are other insiders who can provide useful leads."
"Once we have that information, we'll be ready to proceed," he continued.
Daisy nodded in acknowledgment, her usual seriousness returning as she mentally switched back into work mode.
Holm took a moment to reflect, then said, "I have a covert mission to attend to over the next three days. I'll need you to handle all the preparations we just discussed."
"Three days should be enough to have everything ready. We can start the operation once I'm back."
Hearing Holm's instructions, Daisy paused, then nodded, refraining from asking questions. After all, it was a "secret" mission; if it was something he could share, it wouldn't be called that.
[Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.]
Holm, wearing sunglasses and carrying a backpack, strolled toward the Hosinnia slums. The stark contrast between the bustling city he'd just left and the squalid, deteriorating neighborhood was astonishing, though the two were separated by little more than a wall.
"It's unbearably hot here; no wonder people wear so little. But the smell—awful," Venom murmured, nestled behind Holm's coat as he observed the passing crowd.
The slum residents all dressed similarly—cheap fabric, poor tailoring, with each garment steeped in the sweat and grime of the area.
"That guy really moved fast, getting here in such a short time," Holm muttered, squinting as he looked at the maze of shoddy buildings on the hillside.
Venom shifted to observe from the other side of Holm's coat. "Probably bolted the moment he left your place."
"Yeah, not even time to clean up the scene," Holm replied, glancing at a small notebook in his hand as he continued walking, a slight smirk on his face.
He figured Nathan Landis had planned his escape here, only to be captured just as he was about to disappear. The skirmish might have cost Holm some time, but it hadn't derailed his overall plan.
Holm couldn't help but wonder if Landis would be shocked to see him again—a man he thought he'd killed, now appearing like a vengeful specter, trailing him across continents.
Smiling to himself, Holm unwrapped a slightly melted piece of chocolate and popped it into his mouth.
As evening descended, thick clouds gathered, obscuring the sun and painting the sky with a breathtaking sunset.
Nathan Landis shuffled out of the factory with the tide of workers. Gazing at the distant horizon, he seemed lost in thought.
"Hey, Tim! Come have a drink with us!" A short, bearded man draped an arm over Nathan's shoulders. "Weir's handing out bonuses, and we've got to make him pay up."
"Oh, right—you weren't around then, but you'll fit right in!" the man added, cheerfully oblivious to Landis's discomfort with his sour body odor.
Landis frowned but managed a friendly response. Though he'd been here only two days, he'd already forged some basic connections with the factory's small cliques. The short man, always the center of attention, was his ticket to fitting in.
Despite finding these people distasteful, Landis had little choice. He needed to blend in, even if it meant lowering himself to their level.
Landis expertly traded vulgar jokes with the man, sneaking lecherous glances at the female workers alongside him and then openly discussing them. Some women, repelled, hurried past them, while others, bolder, returned his gaze with suggestive looks.
He noticed all of it, though his interest went no further.
"Sure you won't join us?" the man persisted, making a crude gesture. "Nadya and her sisters will be there, too. She's got an eye on you, you know. Who knows, tonight might be your lucky night!"
Landis chuckled, answering in kind. "Maybe next time. My place is a mess; wouldn't want Nadya sleeping on the floor."
With a few final, meaningless jokes, Landis excused himself, retreating into the cramped, winding alleys that led to his makeshift home.
His expression hardened, his demeanor transforming back to his usual blankness, as if "Tim" was someone else entirely.
With a creak, the dilapidated door swung open. Landis performed his usual checks, ensuring his precautions were still in place before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
Stripping off his sweat-drenched shirt, he tossed it aside and started unbuttoning his pants, intending to shower.
But just as he turned toward the bathroom, the door creaked open slowly.
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