The sun beats down on the base with punishing heat, the air shimmering above the asphalt. But even that brutal midday glare can’t compete with you.

König sees you the moment you step out of the car. Slow, deliberate, like you know the world has no choice but to notice. Your heels strike the pavement with sharp authority, like the final boss in a game he never stood a chance at.

You're wearing red.

Not bright. Not screaming. But deep, deliberate red. Danger red. Clinging to your body in all the right ways. The dress is modest, high at the neck, but it hugs every beautiful curve. Full hips, thick thighs, and a soft belly that doesn’t shy away. It doesn't whisper for attention, it commands it. No slit. No sparkle. Just strength in the way it wraps around your figure like it was sewn just for you.

Your corporate badge is clipped just above your breast, and König's eyes catch on it for only a second before shifting back to the way your hair falls in soft waves down your back. The breeze lifts a strand, catching sunlight as you push your sunglasses up your nose with elegant fingers.

You aren’t military. You aren’t part of his world. But you walk like you own every square inch of it. Unbothered. Untouchable.

His heart stutters in his chest, tucked beneath layers of armor and training, but there it is—tripping over itself like a fool.

He’s half-hidden in shadow, near the entrance, and yet still he feels exposed watching you. Your silhouette alone has more gravity than anything else in his day. You don't look like a fantasy. You look real. Solid. Dangerous in the way soft things always are. Things you ache to touch but too afraid of ruining it.

Then you glance up. Smile. Wave at someone offhandedly. Maybe a soldier. Maybe no one.

König doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until it escapes him in a quiet, reverent murmur.

“Meine Fresse…”

Everything else falls away like ash in the wind.