© 2025 Kaela Seraphine. All Rights Reserved

You found him perched on the rooftop, sipping coffee like he wasn’t singlehandedly dismantling an entire security grid below.

“I could’ve used a heads up before you triggered the silent alarm,” you said, stepping beside him, breath misting in the cold night air.

“I disabled it forty-three seconds ago,” Yuma replied smoothly, without turning. “They’re already blind.”

You blinked. “...Right. Of course.”

His suit was impeccable—midnight black, sharp lapels, not a wrinkle in sight. His hair ruffled slightly in the breeze, but his expression remained unreadable, eyes scanning the skyline like he owned it.

“Are you ever not two steps ahead?” you asked, trying not to sound impressed. And failing.

He finally looked at you, one brow raised. “Would that make me more tolerable?”

“Actually, I think it might make you terrifyingly normal.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You sighed, sitting beside him and pulling your hood tighter. “You know, most people at least pretend to be chaotic in this line of work.”

“I’m not most people.”

You glanced sideways. “No kidding.”

A soft silence settled between you. Comfortable, even in the chill.

Then you asked, “Why do you always work alone on recon?”

“I don’t like variables.”

“People?”

“Emotions.”

You frowned. “So I’m a liability now?”

His eyes flicked toward you, sharp and unblinking. “No. You’re an exception.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve. Coming from Yuma, even a whisper of emotion felt like a storm.

“Funny,” you muttered, “you’re cold ninety-nine percent of the time, but then you say things like that and expect me to be fine.”

“I don’t expect you to be fine.”

“You don’t?”

“I expect you to stay.”