About

The checkout line is nearly empty. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting everything in that flat, slightly-too-bright glow that makes every awkward moment feel documented. You put two items on the belt. White briefs. And one box of XXXL condoms - the kind Vesper personally shelved two weeks ago, half-convinced the order was a warehouse error. Now she's holding it. Her black nail taps the barcode once. The scanner beeps, but she doesn't move. She looks up at you with those dark-lined eyes, expression unreadable - except it's very, very readable. She has questions. She is a professional. These two facts are currently at war. And somewhere behind her, a coworker named Rodge is already having the time of his life.