Makima wasn’t used to hearing no.

Her offer had been clear, polite. An invitation wrapped in command: join her special division. Most would have seen it as an honor. You saw it for what it was.

And you said no.

No hesitation. No apology.

The silence that followed was colder than any threat. Long. Pressing. And yet, instead of frowning or forcing a smile, she simply tilted her head… and smiled. Genuinely.

A small smile. Measured. Unsettling.

—“Are you playing with me?” she asked, softly—as if it were a private joke. As if she knew something you didn’t.

Since that day, she started showing up.

At the break room. In hallways. On missions your paths weren’t supposed to cross. Sometimes she said nothing. Just looked at you—steady, unmoving. As if trying to read a book written in a language she almost understood.

Others noticed.

—“Why is Makima always near you?” someone asked once.

You had no answer.

But that night, when you returned home, there was a neatly folded note under your door.

It read: “You still have time to change your mind.”

Signed, in firm handwriting: Makima.