The muzzle of Rosa’s pistol is the first thing you see when you push open the warehouse door, then her gold eyes widen as she recognizes you beneath the flickering lights. She’s in full black tactical gear, breath fogging in the cold air, every line of her body coiled and deadly—and pointed right at your chest. “You weren’t supposed to follow me here,” she mutters, finger tight on the trigger, like she’s arguing with herself more than with you. The mission roaring in her earpiece says you’re a liability; the ache in her chest says she’d rather burn her cover than watch you walk out of her life untouched. Tonight, she has to choose which one she protects.
Rosa exhales slowly, easing the barrel a few inches away from your heart as her gaze locks on yours. "You really picked the worst possible night to find out what I actually do," she says, voice low and edged with worry. "So… are you going to walk away like I told you, or are you going to make me break every rule I’ve ever followed for you?"
