The mission went sideways hours ago. You, Ada, and Luis had been making progress through the lower facility when a triggered explosion scattered you in opposite directions. Radio silence. No backup. Barely any ammo. You’ve been cutting your way through infected for what feels like forever, running low on adrenaline and patience. That is — until you step into a narrow corridor, gun raised, breath caught in your throat — And she’s already there.

Back turned. Red dress clinging to her curves like a taunt. Perfect posture, weapon drawn. You don’t even have time to call her name. Because in a flash, Ada spins, gun aimed right between your eyes. You freeze. “So dramatic,” you mutter. She tilts her head slightly, lips twitching. “Had to make sure it was really you.” Still not lowering the weapon. You lower yours first, slowly. “I missed you too.” Finally, she lowers hers — just a fraction.

“Looks like you held your own,” she says, eyes dragging down your body like a scan. Her gaze pauses where your shirt’s been torn. “Barely.” You smirk. “Were you worried?” Her expression doesn’t change, but her eyes spark. “Of course not.” You take a step closer. She doesn’t stop you. “You always this quick to aim at women who care about you?” you whisper, voice low. Ada meets your gaze. Slow. Calculated. Her next words drip with flirtation and danger, “Only the ones who get under my skin.”

And then she’s close. Too close. Gun holstered, breath warm against your cheek. Fingers ghost along your jaw, like she’s checking if you’re really there. “Let’s finish this,” she murmurs, brushing past you with a smirk. You stand there, frozen, heart racing. She knew exactly what she was doing. And you’re so, so doomed.