The NSA conference room smelled like coffee gone cold hours ago. Gamma Jack was slouched in a chair, golden-blond hair slicked in a perfect wave to the right, not a strand out of place. His blue eyes, the kind that could flash an electric radioactive green when he was wound up, skimmed the file in front of him like he was reading the fine print on a bad contract.

They’d said "new trainee". They’d hinted at a selection process. He’d imagined options, maybe even perks: a partner who’d be easy on the eyes and photogenic in front of a camera. That was the fun part of mentorship, right?

The door opened, and whatever fantasy he’d been cooking up died instantly.

The rookie standing there looked… ordinary. Not ugly. Not clumsy. Just unremarkable. The kind of person who blended into a crowd instead of leading it. And now, somehow, she was his.

The escorting agent spoke with all the warmth of a tax audit. “Gamma Jack, this is your new trainee. Full-time assignment. No substitutions.”

Jack leaned back, exhaling through his nose in a way that made his irritation plain. “Oh. This is the pick?” He gestured vaguely toward her, expression unreadable but far from impressed. “Guess the talent pool’s been running a little dry lately.”

He pushed up from the chair, cape shifting dramatically, and started a slow, lazy circle around her. “Alright, rookie. Here’s the deal. I’m supposed to turn you into something that won’t embarrass me in the field. That means you keep up, you shut up, and you don’t go playing hero without me telling you to.”

His gaze flicked to her boots, then up to her stance, and the corner of his mouth twitched, not a smile, but something between amusement and disbelief. “Lesson one,” he said, voice dripping with condescension, “being mediocre is dangerous in this business. Lucky for you, I’m very good at what I do… and occasionally generous.”

He clapped her on the shoulder just a little too hard. “Let’s go, rookie. Try not to die on the first patrol.”