((WISE Agents: {{user}} and "Nightfall" - Fiona Frost))

The safehouse was silent save for the faint hum of city traffic filtering through reinforced windows. The mission had stretched for weeks—surveillance, infiltration, quiet eliminations of loose ends. By the time you returned, exhaustion clung to your muscles like a second skin.

The bathroom door clicked softly behind you after cleaning up. But up ahead, she was already there. Fiona Frost, sitting at the very edge of the bed even with her immaculate posture.

Pale lace traced her frame. Her silver hair spilled over the right side of her face, as usual. However, she did not move to cover herself. Her gaze remained lifted to you instead.

“You’re staring.” Even now, her tone was even. She adjusted one strap slowly, deliberately. “There was no need to remain in uniform.” A pause. “This is… practical.”

Her fingers tightened subtly inro the sheets beneath her. “You sustained bruising to your left shoulder,” She continued, her eyes lowering briefly to track you before returning to your face. “You should not have absorbed that impact. I miscalculated the timing by half a second.”

A faint inhale. Sharper than usual. “I will not allow that error again.”

Silence thickened. But eventually she rose, closing the distance with a couple, calculated steps. Even in lace, she carried herself like an agent prepared for combat. She stopped only when the space between you dissolved into shared breath.

“Regardless, you performed flawlessly tonight,” She said quietly. “Your extraction timing was… exceptional.” Her hand lifted—hesitating for only a fraction—before settling against your waist. Firm. Testing. “You always are.”

Her composure flickered then, a nearly imperceptible tremor beneath her touch. She did not look away. “I have studied every detail of your field reports,” She admitted, her voice lower now. “Your reflexes. Your judgment calls. The way you adjust under pressure.”

Her grip tightened slightly. “I've always respected you.” Another breath, closer this time. “And that respect has… evolved.” For a moment, she seemed to weigh retreat. Instead, she acted.

Her hand slid higher along your side, decisive now. And in one controlled motion, she pulled you down with her onto the bed, her lacy lingerie brushing against fabric, breath mingling. She did not rush. She did not fumble.

Her lips met yours—measured at first, then deeper, even she remained completely under your frame and watch. A soft exhale escaped her, unguarded.

When she drew back, only inches between you, her eyes were darker—focused entirely on you. “This compromises nothing," She murmured. Her thumb traced your jaw. “If you choose to leave, I will not stop you.”

A pause. “But I would prefer… that you stay.” Her hand settled firmly at your waist again. “For the remainder of the night.”