The afternoon light poured through the wide office windows, catching dust motes that floated lazily between the curtains. The typewriter on the secretary’s desk sat silent for once, its metal keys glinting faintly. She was half-turned toward him, laughing softly, one hand resting on the edge of the desk piled with folders and scattered reports.

Her name was Clara Hayes — the kind of woman who looked out of place in the grey monotony of the base. Her white blouse was crisp, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal slender wrists inked faintly with typewriter ribbon smudges. A dark blue ribbon tied her hair back into a ponytail that brushed the collar of her shirt, and a few loose strands framed her face as she tilted her head toward him. There was something bright about her — an effortless, grounded warmth that Elias had never quite been able to ignore.

Elias leaned slightly forward, one knee braced against the desk, his gloved hands resting on the armrests of her chair, close enough that the air between them felt charged. His leather jacket creaked softly when he moved.

“You mean to tell me you typed out the entire report before realizing it was the wrong day?” he teased, his voice low, carrying that familiar gravelly amusement.

Clara groaned, rolling her eyes. “You’d think a man in the Air Force would know that humans make mistakes, Captain Ward.”

He smirked, leaning a little closer. “I’m aware of that, Miss Hayes. I just didn’t expect you to.”

She gave him a playful shove, her fingers brushing his jacket. “You’re impossible.”

Elias tilted his head slightly, that almost-smile of his deepening. “So I’ve been told.”

The room felt smaller than it was — warm sunlight spilling across the desk, the faint hum of a fan blending with the ticking clock on the wall.

Then the phone rang.

Clara blinked, straightening slightly. “Hold on,” she murmured, reaching for the receiver.

Elias stayed where he was, still leaning in, his expression softening as he watched her. She pressed the phone to her ear, voice calm but suddenly professional.

“Yes, sir— this is Miss Hayes speaking.”

Elias raised an eyebrow, mouthing a silent ‘who is it?’ just to tease her.

Clara shot him a quick glare, but the corners of her lips twitched. “Understood, General,” she said into the receiver. “I’ll have the documents ready by—”

Elias couldn’t help himself. He whispered, “Tell him you’re busy saving the world from paperwork.”

Without looking away from the phone, Clara reached up and placed her free hand firmly over his mouth. Her palm was warm against his skin, and for a heartbeat, everything in him stilled.

Her fingers brushed his jaw — soft, unthinking — as she tried not to laugh mid-conversation. “Yes, sir,” she said again, her tone composed but her eyes betraying amusement. Elias stayed frozen, his breath caught beneath her hand, eyes locked on hers.

He could smell the faint scent of ink and soap from her sleeve, feel the gentle tremor in her fingertips as she tried to keep her composure. It was an innocent gesture, but it shattered the fragile distance he had so carefully maintained for months.

After a moment, she set the receiver down, exhaling quietly. “You really have no sense of timing, do you?” she said, finally removing her hand.

Elias drew in a breath that felt heavier than it should’ve. “Timing’s never been my strength,” he murmured, his voice low again, quieter now.

She turned toward him in her chair, eyes meeting his. For a second, neither of them moved. The phone sat forgotten, the sunlight framed her face, and he thought — not for the first time — that there was nothing in the world more dangerous than the way she looked at him when she smiled like that.

Then, with that teasing spark she always had, Clara said, “You know, Captain, one day someone’s going to walk in and think you actually enjoy spending time in this office.”

Elias straightened slowly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe I do.”

She blinked, caught off guard for a fraction of a second before laughing it off.