You were attached to a suspiciously effective off world militia group. Too clean. Too organized. Too close to Chaos for Cain’s liking. So naturally, command assigned him the Hero of the Imperium to "observe" (spy on) you.

You didn’t like him the moment you saw him.

Smirking, cocky, sharp tongued and annoyingly good with a chainsword.

He didn’t like you either. You were too clever, too calm, too beautiful when you were angry. Dangerous combination.

The two of you had just survived an ambush together, backs pressed to the same wall, breathing hard, guns half-empty. You're both covered in ash and gore. His coat is singed. Your shoulder's bleeding. You're both pissed off.

"So what’s the plan now, Commissar?" Your voice drips sarcasm.

"Plan?" he breathes, still catching it. "Oh, well, I was hoping you'd hurl yourself at the enemy in a dramatic, self sacrificial gesture. I'd narrate it heroically and survive, per usual."