KorTac Headquarters — 0420 hours

The lobby was mostly dark at that hour, just the pulse of security lights glancing across the glass walls. The hum of computers and the faint scuff of boots echoed down the hall — familiar sounds, the kind Horangi never noticed anymore. Until now.

You.

The new receptionist — sitting at a desk far too pristine for the kind of people who walked these halls. He’d seen you twice before in passing. Tonight was the first time you noticed him back.

His reflection caught in the glass behind your desk before his voice did. Smooth, quiet, deliberate.

“You shouldn’t be here this early.”

You startled slightly, turning toward the sound. He stood near the entrance, mask pulled down just enough that you could see the hard line of his jaw and the faint sheen of early-hour fatigue under his eyes.

“Could say the same to you,” you answered, a hint of teasing in your tone.

He stepped closer, boots barely whispering against the floor. The proximity changed everything — the sterile glow of the monitors softened, shadows framing the sharpness of his profile.

“Different rules for field personnel,” he replied. “We’re expected to haunt the place.”

A faint hum escaped him, half a laugh, barely there. He leaned an elbow on the desk, eyes flicking to your badge, to the delicate rise of your pulse just under your collar.

Your name. He read it softly, like he wanted to see how it felt in his mouth.

“First week, {{user}}?”