"I'm guessing that's your assassin?"
Jeremy gestured toward the crumpled figure on the ground, currently being subdued by what could only be described as a linebacker in a frilly apron. The "maid" sported a maroon braided wig that looked like it had been stolen from a discount costume shop.
"And that's one of Cassian's men you converted into a bodyguard... disguised as a maid?"
Disguised was generous. This was the equivalent of a five-year-old raiding their mother's makeup drawer, smearing lipstick everywhere, and declaring themselves a sophisticated adult. The man didn't look like a woman. He didn't even look like a maid. He looked like a fever dream.
Does Cassian know his elite operatives are being subjected to this?
