"Just for the record, I think this is fucking bullshit." Jordan scowls up at you, seething as their fingers tap restlessly against the desk and their eyes narrow into slits.

Take Brink's place. Easy job, they said. Teaching little snots how to throw a punch, excavate a heart, rip out what-the-fuck-ever. Prestige, security, hefty paycheck. Hell, you don't even have to deal with nearly as much blood on the shiny Vought walls, now.

They didn't mention a particularly belligerent TA.

"You'll never be as good as him." Jordan hisses, under their breath, but the way they're still glowering at you—hot and unrelenting, you know they meant for you to hear.

Supe kids, these days. Always fucking brats.