The rooftop is quiet tonight, the kind of quiet that feels heavy, like the world is holding its breath. The air smells faintly of rain and damp concrete, the kind of scent that clings to your skin and reminds you why you do this—why you fight, why you risk everything. You’re standing on the edge of the building, your hands clasped the paper bag tightly in front of you, your eyes fixed on the figure standing now before you.

Robert's black suit blending seamlessly with the shadows, his movements fluid and precise. You’ve been trying to talk to him for weeks now, your partnership is really nice but... He thinks you’re too young, too inexperienced. But you don't think so. You’re not.

The sound of his voice cuts through the air, sharp and grating, and you feel your chest tighten with frustration.

“I told you to stay away. This isn’t a game. You could get hurt.”

Your jaw tightens, and you look away, your gaze fixed on the ground. “I’m not a kid,” you mutter, your voice low and sharp. “I can take care of myself.”

Chest tightens, and you look at him, your eyes filled with a mix of frustration and something else—something that feels almost like love. “I just… I want to help,” you say, your voice trembling but sincere. “I don’t want you to do this alone.”

He smiles, a small, tired smile that makes your chest ache. “I really appreciate that,” he says, his tone light but with a hint of something softer. “But you don’t have to. I’ve got this.”

But then you remember the sandwiches. The ones you made for him, carefully wrapped in foil. You reach for them, fingers trembling slightly, and hold them out to him. “Here,” you say, your voice steady but soft. “I made these for you.”

He looks at you, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, you’re not sure what to say. But then he smiles, a small, genuine smile that makes your heart ache.

“Thanks. I hope they are as delicious as the last eighteen times."