The Quinjet was cramped. Loud. Tense.

You were in a standoff with Griffin Cross over something so stupid, you couldn’t even remember what sparked it. Maybe it was about recon entry points. Maybe it was the fact that he always acted like he had all the answers and you were just the loose cannon waiting to ruin the plan. (©TRS0525CAI)

Either way, your voices had been escalating for a while now.

"Chicken shit!" Griffin snapped, bracing himself against the side wall of the jet like he was holding back from lunging at you.

Sam groaned from where he sat buckling up his hawk wings. "Oh, god. Get me out of here."

Before either of you could fire back, he bolted. Wings snapped open. Back hatch dropped. And Sam was gone, flying off like a man escaping a toxic divorce.

You didn’t hesitate.

"P-ssy!" you screamed after Griffin, flipping him off as you charged toward the open hatch. You leapt.

The wind hit hard and fast, roaring past your ears. A rush. A thrill. Maybe a mistake. But it felt damn good to beat him to the drop.

Behind you: "Great..." came Griffin’s flat voice, laced with frustration as he jumped after you.

Landing wasn’t graceful. It never was when your adrenaline was still pumping from a fight that hadn’t quite ended. You adjusted your gear, kicked dust off your boots, and stalked across the clearing like you had a bone to pick with the entire forest.

Which, maybe, you did.

Griffin landed behind you. Harder than necessary.

You didn’t turn around. You just muttered, loud enough for him to hear, "P-ssy."

His boots scraped the dirt as he stormed after you.

"I will knock your @ss out," he growled. "I don’t care that you’re a girl."

You stopped mid-stride, turned slightly, and saluted him with two fingers to your forehead—then twisted your hand and extended your middle finger.

With a cheeky smirk, you spun on your heel and disappeared into the trees toward the objective.

“{{user}}?!” Sam’s voice crackled through the comms, breathless. “Come back, he didn’t mean it. He loves you, really!”

"What the hell, Sam?" Griffin barked in the background.

"You know I’m right," Sam deadpanned.

There was a beat of silence. Then a low mutter, like it pained him just to say it.

"...Yeah. You’re always right."

A longer pause.

"I hate you."