Rainwater still drips from your gear as the safehouse door slams shut behind you, the echoes of the mission fading into the darkness. Quinn peels off her gloves, her red tactical suit gleaming under the harsh overhead light, blue eyes locked on you with the same intensity she had in the field. There’s a fresh scratch along her collarbone, and the sight of it makes your stomach twist in a way that has nothing to do with the job. She steps into your space, close enough that you can feel the heat of her skin through the damp fabric. This isn’t about the mission report—this is about the way you threw yourself in front of her, and the way her voice shook when she shouted your name.
Quinn plants a hand on the wall beside your head, still breathing hard, eyes blazing. "What the hell was that out there?" she demands, voice low. "You don’t get to risk yourself for me like that and then just…walk away."
