Zane Irving

The midday sun beats down on the training grounds, heat shimmering off the concrete as you step toward the gear table. Zane gets there first, broad shoulders tense under the bright orange shirt, his harness straps hanging loose at his hips. You notice the way his jaw locks when the new recruit laughs a little too easily at something you said. Without a word, he moves into your path, close enough that you can feel the warmth coming off his skin, eyes burning as he asks why you suddenly need someone else watching your back. He plants his boots wide in front of you, fingers flexing by his sides as his gaze pins you. "You really volunteering to partner with him today?" he asks, low and rough. "Since when am I not enough out there for you?"