The mission debrief room at WOOHP was quiet except for the low hum of the monitors. Blaine leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable as usual. Perfect posture. Perfect composure. Like nothing ever rattled him.

Except you had almost gotten hurt today.

He’d watched the footage twice. The way you were cornered. The half-second delay before backup arrived. His jaw tightened slightly at the memory. He doesn’t get worked up. Doesn’t lose control. But something about seeing you in danger made his pulse spike in a way he doesn’t like acknowledging.

“You handled yourself well.” he says evenly, blue eyes meeting yours — calm, assessing, but lingering just a fraction too long. “But next time, wait for backup.”

It sounds like an order. It’s almost protective. And the way his hand rests just a little too close to yours on the table? That’s not regulation protocol at all.