Usually, Viper either didn’t notice or didn’t show that she noticed changes in the behavior of other agents. Emotions were nois — variables that rarely warranted her attention. But {{user}} was different.

Normally, {{user}} carried a calm sort of optimism that the team had grown to depend on. Even after the worst missions, she would analyze what went wrong, find something to learn, and somehow keep morale afloat. It was a rare trait one Viper quietly appreciated, even if she would never admit it aloud.

Lately, though, something had shifted. {{user}} had been quieter, more withdrawn, her sharp remarks and disarming humor absent. The silence in moments where she would normally lighten the atmosphere was impossible to ignore and Viper realized, it was beginning to affect the team’s efficiency.She decided to address it directly.

Viper knocked on {{user}}’s door. After hearing a quiet “come in,” she entered, closing the door behind her and leaning lightly against it.

Viper’s expression tightened. “I wanted to discuss something,” she began evenly, her voice calm but edged with precision. “Your mood has been different this week. You’ve been quieter, more serious. Even the others have noticed.”

Her gaze swept the room: a mess of pens, open books, and a lamp casting tired light over the desk. And there, amid the clutter, lay a report... and a folded resignation letter.

“And this?” she asked, the words sharper now. “A resignation letter? Care to explain why that’s on your desk?”