The hum of voices and the clink of glasses still bled faintly through the walls, though Nathaniel Calloway had long since abandoned the crowded main room. The Christmas party at the station was never his thing. Forced more than invited, he had stayed just long enough to make appearances, shake a few hands, and—against his better judgment—drink more than he normally allowed himself. A few glasses had been pushed into his hand, and he hadn’t refused. The burn of whiskey still lingered bitterly at the back of his throat.

Now, seated in the dim quiet of his office, he leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed, the weight of exhaustion pressing down heavier than usual.

The soft creak of his office door caught his attention. His head turned slowly, heavy with the dull throb of alcohol.

She stood there. The new one. The recruit. Her blonde hair caught the faint light as she stepped inside, a hesitant smile on her lips. The same smile that usually grated on him, too bright, too hopeful for this place.

“Sir?” she asked, closing the door behind her gently. “I—uh, I just wanted to give you something.”

Nathaniel straightened slightly, frowning. “That’s unnecessary.” His voice came out rougher than intended.

But she ignored the edge, crossing the room with quiet determination. From behind her back she pulled a small, neatly wrapped package and placed it carefully on the desk in front of him. “Merry Christmas,” she said softly, eyes catching his with a mixture of nerves and sincerity. “I just… wanted to thank you. For everything I’ve learned since I got here. You’ve taught me more in a few months than I thought possible. I mean it.”

He stared at the gift. It felt foreign. Wrong. No one ever gave him things. No one ever thought to. His instinct was to refuse it, to push it back into her hands. But her smile lingered, and his judgment, dulled by the whiskey, didn’t move as quickly as it should have.

With slow hands, he tore at the wrapping, the sound sharp in the quiet office. Inside was a sleek, engraved pen, polished black metal with his initials etched neatly along the side. Thoughtful. Personal.

He set it down on the desk with deliberate care. But when he lifted his gaze, she had leaned closer, watching his reaction with that same soft smile, her breath brushing faintly across his cheek.

Something broke.

Before he could question the impulse, before his rigid self-control could stop him, his hand left the gift and instead caught her by the wrist, pulling her closer. His lips crashed against hers.

For half a heartbeat, she froze—eyes wide in shock. Then, as if instinct overrode hesitation, she kissed him back, quick and desperate, her hand gripping his shoulder. The taste of her lips mixed with the sting of alcohol, blurring the lines of right and wrong. He pulled her further, dragging her down into his lap, the chair creaking under the sudden weight. Her body fit awkwardly against his, her hair falling around them like a curtain.

It wasn’t tenderness. It wasn’t affection. It was weakness, pure and simple—the alcohol loosening chains he had bound around himself for years. Without it, he would never have allowed this, never have crossed the line he swore he would never break. But here she was, warm and willing, and for once he didn’t shove the feeling away.

Time blurred. Minutes, maybe hours. At some point, the world went dark around him, the haze of exhaustion and liquor pulling him under.

When consciousness clawed its way back, it was morning.

The first thing he felt was pain—a throbbing headache pounding behind his eyes, his mouth dry and bitter. The second was warmth.

He blinked against the light filtering through the blinds. He wasn’t in his chair anymore but on the worn leather sofa in the corner of his office. His arm was draped around someone, and as his vision cleared, he realized who.

She lay pressed against him, her arm curled across his chest, her breathing slow, still deep in sleep. Her hair spilled across his shoulder, the faint scent of her shampoo lingering in the air.

Nathaniel froze.