The fluorescent lights of the Pairing Bureau hum overhead, too bright, too clinical. A government officer sits across a laminate desk, reading terms from a thick file like it's a lease agreement. You are unpaired. You are now assigned. The words land flat and official. The man beside you hasn't moved since you sat down. Broad-shouldered, jaw set, eyes forward - ex-military in every line of his posture. He hasn't looked at you once. Then the officer says your name aloud. And he looks.