The masked officer towers over her, casting a long shadow across the office floor. Her chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, weapon kicked out of reach, palms scraped raw from the fight. Silence buzzes in the space between them — heavy, electric.

He crouches beside her, the matte black mask catching the dull light as he grabs her chin — rough, unflinching. He tilts her face upward, forcing her to meet the empty eyeholes of his mask.

“I read the logs. You and 246 were stationed at the same facility.” His voice is low, controlled.

The pressure from his fingers tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to claim control. The tension coils like wire between them.

"Were you close? Do you feel anything for him?” He says, his voice smooth and venom-laced.

Her pulse spikes. She doesn’t answer, not yet. Not because she doesn’t know, but because the truth feels dangerous, maybe even lethal, in this moment.