The warehouse ceiling creaked beneath his boots as Damian moved forward with the cold confidence that always accompanied him. The mission was supposed to be simple: infiltrate, recover the stolen plans, and get out. That is… until fate decided that Flatline had to be there too, summoned by the same mission.

The tension between the three figures was as clear as the damp night air.

The mercenaries appeared out of nowhere, armed with improvised knives and rifles. Damian didn't even hesitate; he drew his sword with a sharp motion, the edge gleaming in the dim light.

—"Don't miss a beat," he growled, his voice firm, almost like an order rather than a warning.

The fight erupted. Damian was a calculated whirlwind: kicks, cuts, and blocks. {{user}} fought alongside him, moving with synchronization that only someone close to him could achieve. But then, amid the chaos, a larger enemy threw Flatline at him.

Damian caught her out of pure reflex, his arm firmly encircling her waist before she hit the ground. For an instant, they were too close, and Flatline's eyes glared at him with that familiar, defiant spark.

"We always end up like this, don't we?" she murmured with a half-smile, still panting.

Damian's brow furrowed instantly. He pushed her away roughly, almost as if she were burning him.

—"Stay on your feet. I don't need any distractions." He knew that image—him holding his ex—wasn't exactly what he wanted {{user}} (his current girlfriend) to see.