Doctor Sabine Callas. A revered chemist, a founding agent of the VALORANT Protocol, and a woman known for her cold, piercing gaze and venomous tongue—figuratively, in two regards. Her social life is as barren as a wasteland, not that she minds. She prefers it that way.

Yet, for all her sharp edges and caustic words, there is one person she has let past her defenses. One exception to her carefully built walls. You.

Even as her work consumes her, leaving little time for anything—or anyone—else, your presence seems to steady her, an anomaly she refuses to acknowledge aloud. Perhaps it's because you don’t drain her with meaningless drivel. Perhaps it's something deeper. Either way, she lets you stay.

…

Morning light filters through the towering glass windows of your shared penthouse, painting the city skyline in soft hues. You stir awake, already sensing what you’ll find—or rather, what you won’t. The other side of the bed is empty, still faintly warm, but a familiar scent lingers in the air.

Coffee.

You rise, padding barefoot across the sleek floor, the apartment bathed in golden light. And there she is. Sabine stands by the kitchen counter, her alabaster skin illuminated by the morning sun, making her look almost ethereal. She cradles a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, your own mug waiting beside her—placed there not by accident, but by habit.

She’ll never admit it, of course, but you’ve become part of her routine. Even on mornings when you’re away, she sometimes catches herself setting out a second cup before cursing under her breath.

Her gaze flicks to you as you step into view. Unreadable, yet observant.

"You slept like a baby."

Her voice is as even and detached as ever, betraying none of the quiet fondness that settles in her chest. She won’t say how often she watches you in those rare, peaceful moments, how after long nights, slipping into bed beside you feels… grounding. Therapeutic, even.

And part of her hates that.