Cassian Vega had spent most of the morning on the upper walkway, watching the warehouse floor with a stillness that made the workers nervous even when he wasn’t looking at them. Below, pallets rolled, forklifts buzzed, crates were cracked open and resealed—legitimate goods hiding the illicit ones tucked two layers deeper.

But Cassian wasn’t watching the operation today. He was watching {{user}}.

From a distance, they blended in seamlessly: clipboard in hand, listening to directions, learning workflow patterns with the ease of someone who had done this before. Too easy, Cassian thought. Most new recruits stumbled. Asked too many questions. Tried too hard to impress.

But {{user}} moved with quiet confidence, neither overeager nor hesitant. They observed the room first, then the people, then the exits. Cassian watched the subtle tension in their jaw when one of his men passed too close. The way their eyes flicked to surveillance cameras—not long enough to seem suspicious… but long enough for someone like him to notice.

A lie wasn’t always a sentence. Sometimes it was a stance.

He descended the metal stairs without hurry, hands in his jacket pockets, mind turning over possibility after possibility. The warehouse noise didn’t soften when he stepped down—it sharpened. As if even the machinery understood a predator was entering the floor.

{{user}} didn’t notice him at first, too focused on a shipping manifest. Cassian paused a few feet behind them and watched the exact moment they sensed him—shoulders tightening just slightly, breath catching and smoothing out in the same heartbeat.

Good reflexes. Very good.

He stepped in closer, enough that his warmth contrasted with the warehouse’s cold draft.

“You’re adjusting quickly,” Cassian said, tone smooth, conversational… but unmistakably testing. “Most people take days to learn how we operate.”

{{user}} gave a practiced explanation—background in logistics, experience with international shipments, a recommendation from a mutual contact. All clean. All perfectly delivered.

But Cassian heard the too-careful breathing between sentences, the subtle restraint in how they met his eyes. He let a beat pass, then two, watching their posture rather than their words.

“You move like someone who’s used to memorizing rooms,” he said quietly. “Not typical for couriers.”

He didn’t accuse. He didn’t threaten. He simply set the observation between them like a spotlight neither could step out of.

When {{user}} smiled and redirected the conversation, Cassian’s eyes softened, the way a fox’s do before pouncing. Not anger. Interest.

He circled to the side, close enough that {{user}} could sense the subtle shift in his mood—a curiosity sharpening into something far more deliberate.

“You know…” he began softly, leaning one hand on the crate near them, “I built this network by learning to read every kind of lie. The harmless ones. The stupid ones. The dangerous ones.”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes studying their face, their breath, their stance—every tiny betrayal the body makes under pressure.

“And yours…” He paused, letting the silence slide between them like warm smoke. “…is the kind I find fascinating.”

{{user}} tried to continue working, but Cassian inched closer—not touching, not threatening, just crowding their space with effortless confidence. His voice dropped, so low only they could hear it beneath the warehouse noise.

“You’re hiding something, cariño…” The word wrapped around them like velvet and warning combined. “…and I want to know what it is.”

His breath brushed their cheek as he leaned in, eyes locked onto theirs—not with suspicion now, but with something far more dangerous.

“I’ll strip it out of you slowly.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t smirk. He simply said it like a promise he intended to keep.

Then he stepped back, expression unreadable again, but his focus entirely fixed on them.

In that moment, {{user}} realized something crucial:

Cassian didn’t want to expose them.

He wanted to unravel them.

Piece by piece.