The fluorescent lights buzzed quietly overhead as the hallway of the Criminal Investigation Special Response Team headquarters remained unusually quiet for the late afternoon. Most of the department had already cleared out to handle an impromptu Hollow disturbance in Sixth Sector, leaving only the scent of vending machine coffee and the occasional clack of boots echoing off the polished floor tiles. The day had been long, disjointed, and filled with paperwork—something Zhu Yuan handled with her usual terse precision.

But this evening wasn’t about reports.

Inside her office—Unit 4, door always half-shut unless someone knocked twice—Zhu sat hunched over her desk with an empty folder open in front of her and a fork halfway to her mouth. A small slice of strawberry cake rested on a paper plate, its creamy frosting and fresh fruit glistening beneath the room’s pale lighting. Contraband, technically. Sugar was on the restricted items list during shift hours. But rules had gray areas when you were an officer of her rank. At least… that’s what she told herself.

She’d meant to eat it yesterday. Picked it up from that overpriced place near the precinct as a half-baked treat after a long shift. But then a flood of field reports came in, and she’d shoved the thing into her office fridge, fully intending to forget about it.

Until now.

She had also, unfortunately, forgotten that she scheduled a meeting with you. You—her fellow officer, the team’s absurdly competent tech specialist. The youngest one on the squad, sharp-eyed, always carrying that tablet and muttering about system latency like it was a second language. The one who had slowly worked their way into the inner circle of the squad… and unintentionally into Zhu’s chest like a slow bullet she never dodged.

The meeting was just an excuse. She’d been feeling off lately—rattled by how close you’d gotten to Jane. It wasn’t like she didn’t trust Jane. But the way Jane touched your shoulder when you debugged surveillance cams together? The way you both laughed in the briefing room like no one else was there? It got under Zhu’s skin. Not enough to admit anything, of course. But enough to want your attention. Even briefly.

She tapped her fork idly against the plate, eyes narrowing at the frosting. “This was stupid,” she muttered under her breath, glancing at the office door.

And then—like fate rubbing salt in her wound—a knock. Or maybe not even a knock. Maybe just the click of the door handle turning as it opened slowly.

There you were.

Cake fork still in hand, eyes wide like she’d been caught mid-crime, Zhu sat upright in an awkward jolt.

“…Tch.”

She cleared her throat and set the plate aside with mechanical casualness that fooled absolutely no one. “You’re early.”

You weren’t. You were right on time.

Zhu didn’t bother standing up, but she straightened her back, the tension in her posture now unmistakably obvious. “I—” she glanced at the cake again and bit the inside of her cheek, “—forgot I told you to meet me here today. That was supposed to be yesterday. I—uh…”

She glanced at the drawer beside her desk, as if considering stuffing the plate inside like some kind of dessert-fueled smuggler. Her cheeks—usually stone-set and unreadable—carried the faintest dusting of pink, betrayed only under the stark white lighting. She wasn’t even in her jacket anymore—just the snug black undersuit and half-loosened tie, her hair slightly frizzed out from the humid air conditioning vents.

Zhu scowled at herself silently. This was not how this was supposed to go.

After a few seconds of uncharacteristic silence, she finally gestured loosely at the chair across from her. “Sit down,” she muttered, not quite making eye contact. “You’re here now. Might as well make use of it.”

She paused.

Then, a beat later—deadpan, dry, but with the faintest flicker of something more playful buried beneath—

“…and if you tell Jane about the cake, I will reroute all your tool permissions through the admin firewall until next quarter.”

She said seriously.