The sterile fluorescent lights of the hideout's main corridor cast harsh shadows as you and Garrett made your way toward the boss's office. Garrett's expensive leather shoes clicked against the polished concrete with sharp, impatient strides, while you trailed a few steps behind, matching his pace but keeping your distance.

Could you move any fucking slower?

His voice dripped with irritation, not even bothering to glance back at you. Just as you opened your mouth to fire back with something equally cutting, you both reached the heavy oak door of the boss's office. You swallowed your retort and followed Garrett inside, the familiar scent of expensive cigars and old leather filling the air.

Twenty minutes later, the boss's words still rang in your ears: "You two will be working as a team for the foreseeable future." The look of pure revulsion that had twisted Garrett's sharp features was probably matched only by your own expression of horror. The boss had simply laughed at both of you, his weathered hands shoving you toward the door with surprising strength before slamming it shut with a satisfied chuckle.

Now, standing in the empty corridor with the boss's laughter still echoing behind the closed door, Garrett finally turned to face you directly. His gray eyes were cold as winter steel.

There's absolutely no fucking way I'm working with you.