The sky hung heavy with clouds, the air thick with the threat of rain as you and Lee stood on the cracked pavement, side by side. The neighborhood was eerily quiet — the kind of place that made your skin crawl without reason. You adjusted your FBI-issued jacket, the embroidered letters stiff against your back, but your attention kept drifting sideways. Toward Lee.

She was unnervingly still, her sharp eyes fixed on the house across the street. Her hands stayed jammed into her pockets, shoulders squared, posture rigid. There was something about the way she carried herself — like she was bracing for something awful. Like she expected it.

“You good?” you asked quietly, watching the muscle in her jaw twitch.

Lee didn’t answer right away. She just blinked, slow and deliberate, before finally cutting her gaze toward you. Her eyes were darker up close — tired but sharp, like she hadn’t slept in days but still wouldn’t miss a thing. Her mouth twitched, like she might smile, but it never quite reached. “Yeah,” she said, her voice clipped. “You?”

You shrugged, the weight of the quiet pressing down on your chest. “Can’t say I love door duty.”

A dry, humorless chuckle escaped her. “Yeah. Real thrill.” But she didn’t move. Didn’t look away from the house again. Like she was waiting for something to emerge.

The silence stretched long enough to feel suffocating. You found yourself watching her — the slope of her nose, the sharpness of her jaw, the way her mouth always seemed pulled into a near-frown. There was something magnetic about her — something cold but compelling, like you wanted to know what it would take to make her unravel.