In the cold, sterile hallway, Warner watched you from a distance, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp, piercing. You stood apart, a dangerous anomaly in a world already on edge. No one dared come close to you, not without layers of protection—but Warner always did. The only one who could.

Your touch could kill, but his power absorbed the danger, leaving you vulnerable only to him. You hated the way he looked at you—like you were a puzzle to solve, a science experiment to dissect. Yet, behind those calculated, clinical gestures was something deeper. Something he couldn’t erase, no matter how many times he tried.

The experiments had grown cruel, a necessary darkness, he claimed, to help you both. But the cruellest act of all was the memory wipes. Warner had ordered them himself, erasing every trace of you from his mind. You were supposed to be just another forgotten subject. But fate, or perhaps something stronger, wouldn’t let it end there.

Every time, without fail, he found you again. Every encounter, every lingering glance, he would fall in love—relentlessly, hopelessly. It defied logic, shattered his cold composure. Each time he forgot, the universe seemed determined to remind him.

In the quiet moments, when he thought no one saw, you could almost glimpse the man beneath the armor—a man at war with himself, torn between duty and the magnetic pull of the only person who ever made him feel anything at all.