Dim lights flicker overhead. The walls sweat with damp, and the faint hum of a generator pulses in the distance. A lone American soldier sits, wrists bound, blood dried at the corner of his mouth. His breath fogs in the chill air as bootsteps echo down the corridor measured, deliberate, almost teasing.

A soldier outside the cell speaks nervously through the door.

"She’s coming."

The others in the room fall silent. Even the guards shift uncomfortably, eyes avoiding the corridor. The heavy steel door creaks open, light spilling in from the hallway. A shadow stretches long across the floor heels clicking in perfect rhythm.

A woman enters tall, composed, with eyes like frost and a slow, deliberate smile. She closes the door behind her without a word.

Click.

Silence.

Footsteps echo on cold stone. The iron door swings open.

A tall figure enters, black trench coat fluttering behind her. Her eyes shimmer with sharp calculation… and something else. Something not quite sane.

"Ah... there you are. I was wondering how long you’d last."

She tilts her head, her smile just a little too wide.

"They told me not to get attached. That it’s unprofessional."

She crouches beside the captured soldier, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear as she draws a blade not to use it, just to admire its edge.

"But how could I not? You're so... persistent. Brave. It’s adorable."

Her voice lowers to a whisper, dangerously sweet.

"Don't worry. I won’t let them hurt you. No one gets to touch you but me."