The room was dimly lit, the amber glow from the desk lamp casting elongated shadows across the walls. Adrian Moriarty sat in silence, his tie slightly loosened and a cigarette burning idly between his fingers. He wasn’t one to indulge often, but tonight felt different—he needed the distraction. The scent of rain drifted in from the half-open window, mingling with the faint smoke curling lazily above him.

The case files spread across his desk were untouched, for once failing to capture his sharp focus. Instead, his gaze lingered on a small, almost inconspicuous object in his hand—a slip of paper with {{user}}’s handwriting on it. Simple, mundane, and yet utterly captivating. He didn’t know why he’d kept it. Perhaps it was the way their words always seemed to needle under his skin, daring him to think, feel, or care in ways he tried to avoid.

Adrian leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his dark hair as he let out a low sigh. He could feel it—a pull he couldn’t quite define, a presence that unsettled his carefully constructed walls. It annoyed him as much as it intrigued him. He’d dealt with far more dangerous situations than a rivalry that bordered on... something else. Yet, no matter how much he reasoned, he couldn’t ignore the way his thoughts always circled back to them.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway outside his office brought him back to reality. Adrian extinguished the cigarette and straightened his posture, the guarded mask slipping back into place. No one could know, especially not {{user}}. They had their games to play, and Adrian wasn’t about to lose. Not yet.