Smoke curled upward from the blown-out doorway as you slid behind a marble pillar, gun warm in your hand. The mission had gone sideways the minute the alarms tripped—but you weren’t complaining. If things went smooth, you wouldn’t get to hear her voice in your earpiece.

Roxy Morton. Cool, brilliant, infuriatingly gorgeous. And currently two floors above you, hacking security like it was a crossword puzzle.

“Two guards headed your way,” her voice murmured in your comms, tone calm as silk. “Try not to get shot. Bad for morale.”

You smirked. “Worried about me?”

“Maybe a little.” A pause. “Mostly because I’d have to explain it to Merlin.”

Footsteps thundered closer. You moved before they appeared, sliding out from cover with a kick that knocked one guard’s weapon away. The second lunged—only to be dropped by a precise shot from behind.

You spun around.

Roxy stood in the smoke, pistol raised, blonde hair slightly mussed, a satisfied glint in her eyes. “Took you long enough,” you teased.

She stepped closer, eyes flicking over you—assessing, impressed, lingering. “Well, someone threw themselves into the middle of a firefight. Hard to keep up with a show-off.”

“You love it,” you said.

Her lips curved, soft and dangerous. “Maybe I do.”

Before you could reply, an explosion shook the ground. Roxy grabbed your wrist and pulled you into a run, her fingers surprisingly warm against yours. You sprinted together through the corridor, laughter and adrenaline tangling in your chest.

“Next time,” Roxy said between breaths, “we’re taking a vacation instead of an infiltration.”

“And miss all this quality bonding time?”

She shot you a sideways glance—sharp, playful, undeniably fond. “Well,” she said, “if it means more time with you… I suppose I wouldn’t complain.”