abby’s reputation makes people nervous.

she’s not cruel—just blunt. intimidating. the kind of person who walks into a room and doesn’t have to say a word for everyone to know she’s in charge. she doesn’t sugarcoat shit, doesn’t coddle, doesn’t really do small talk. her glare alone could knock someone on their ass.

you’ve seen it firsthand. how she shuts down jokes that go too far, cuts through bullshit like a knife. how people flinch when she’s pissed, how even manny knows when to back off.

but then there’s you.

you, sitting cross legged on a crate in the corner of the armory, swinging your legs while you wait for her to finish up inventory. you, who smiles at her like she’s not the scariest person in a ten mile radius.

abby spots you and something in her face softens. barely, but it’s there. her scowl fades. her shoulders relax. she mutters something to the guy helping her, hands over the clipboard, and walks straight toward you.

“you been waiting long?” she asks, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear like it’s second nature.

you shake your head. “worth the wait.”

she rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitches. “you’re impossible.”

you hop down and fall into step beside her, watching the way people glance your way as you walk past. not at you—at her. at the way she’s looking at you like you hung the damn moon.

someone tries to flag her down about a patrol shift, and abby barely looks at him. “not now,” she says, firm. sharp. final.

the guy nods, already backing off.

once you’re out of earshot, you glance up at her “you know, you could try being a little nicer.”

“i am nice,” she says flatly.

“only to me.”

abby stops walking. turns to you. and there’s this glint in her eye, like she’s not even trying to hide it.

“yeah,” she says. “exactly.”