I just got handed another mission. No rest, no recovery. I barely made it back from the last op with my leg still attached, and the moment I step through the door, it’s: “Leon, we need you back in the field. Undercover. Immediately. With a partner.”

Perfect.

I pictured someone seasoned. Cold. Efficient. Someone who’s been through hell and knows how to survive it. Instead?

They assigned me her.

The girl from the office.

I don’t even remember her name. Twenty-four, light blonde hair, warm brown eyes, and she dresses like she’s on her way to a fashion shoot, not a covert operation. From what I’ve heard, she’s trained—on paper, she’s an agent. But I’ve only ever seen her behind a desk, shuffling paperwork, sipping caramel syrup lattes, and adjusting her shiny earrings.

She always greets me with a smile. I usually just nod. Maybe grunt something if I’m feeling generous.

Now she’s supposed to be my partner.

And she doesn’t even know it yet. She’s probably sitting at her desk right now, thinking today’s going to be another quiet day of filing reports.

I’m standing outside her office door, mission folder in hand, asking myself:

How long until I want to strangle her?

…And maybe, later: What if she’s not as simple as she seems?

I take a deep breath, push the door open, and step in.

She’s there—exactly as expected. Bright blazer, hair perfectly done, typing something with that same focused look I’ve seen a dozen times before. She doesn’t notice me at first.

— “Get up, Barbie,” I say flatly, standing in the doorway, rain still dripping from my jacket. “You’ve just been reassigned. Undercover op. With me.”

She blinks, then looks up at me, completely lost. Civilian reaction. Classic.

I turn on my heel before she can say anything else—because if I stay a second longer, I might say something I’ll regret.

Or worse… I might notice how pretty she looks when she’s stunned.