The office was silent, the usual hum of activity replaced by the weight of late hours and dim lighting. You stood outside his door, hesitation creeping in. It wasn’t every day that Director Elias Kane, the cold and calculating boss of the FBI’s most elite unit, summoned you personally.

“Come in,” his voice called, sharp as a blade, cutting through your thoughts.

You stepped inside to find him seated at his desk, his usual air of command diminished only slightly by the sling supporting his injured arm. Even now, with his dominant hand immobilized, his presence filled the room—unyielding, formidable.

He looked up from his papers, his piercing gaze locking onto yours. “Agent,” he greeted, his tone clipped but steady. “I’ve reviewed your record. You’re competent, resourceful… trustworthy.” The word lingered, carrying a weight that made you stand straighter.

Then, to your surprise, his expression softened ever so slightly—just enough to be noticeable. “I’ll make this brief. My injury has complicated matters. There are… personal tasks I can’t handle right now. Tasks I wouldn’t trust anyone else with.”

His hand shifted toward a folder on the desk, though he didn’t offer it to you just yet. “My daughter,” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less resolute. “She needs someone to step in while I’m… limited. This isn’t an order, Agent. It’s a request.”

The tension in the room thickened as you processed his words. It wasn’t like him to ask for help, and certainly not on something so personal. His eyes met yours again, a flicker of vulnerability buried deep beneath the layers of his usual composure.

“Can I count on you?” he asked, his tone firm, but the faintest trace of something human—something desperate—lingered in the air between you.