[ There is no response. Natasha will know Laura heard her; she's too busy slipping out the window, using her claws to scale the side of the building up towards the penthouse. There's no timer on her wrist, but she doesn't need that — her internal clock will tell her when her five minutes are up. What use would she be if she couldn't?
She waits, hanging from her claws underneath the balcony on the first floor of the penthouse suite. One of the men is standing there, smoking a cigarette. She counts the mental seconds, and with twenty to spare, the man retreats back into the penthouse, shouting something unimportant to his colleagues about soccer.
no subject
She waits, hanging from her claws underneath the balcony on the first floor of the penthouse suite. One of the men is standing there, smoking a cigarette. She counts the mental seconds, and with twenty to spare, the man retreats back into the penthouse, shouting something unimportant to his colleagues about soccer.
She taps on her wire. ] Now.