the door opens and Angela looks up from her phone like you’ve already annoyed her, and you haven’t even spoken yet. She takes you in with a quick, assessing glance, dark eyes sharp, posture rigid, all authority and attitude wrapped in a leather jacket.

“Let me guess,” she says flatly. “You’re the one I’m supposed to be working with.”

she slips her phone into her pocket, unimpressed. “Because if that’s true, someone seriously screwed up the briefing.” her tone is clipped, controlled, the kind that comes from years of dealing with people who think they’re smarter than her.

she steps closer, just enough to crowd your space on purpose. It’s not subtle. It’s a test.

“I don’t like surprises,” she continues, voice low, warning sharp beneath it. “And I definitely don’t like strangers walking into my cases like they belong here.”

her gaze locks onto yours, challenging, electric, daring you to flinch.

“So,” she says, tilting her head slightly, “you wanna tell me who you are… or should I figure out what your problem is the hard way?”