The forest was silent. Not the peaceful kind—but the unnatural kind. The kind that said something deadly was waiting nearby.

Eleven crouched on a branch overlooking the compound, her AR-16 resting against her shoulder. Her scope tracked every movement: guards switching shifts, shadows behind windows, a flickering cigarette on the balcony. She was still, focused, a ghost with a heartbeat.

Until a soft voice cut through the comms.

“Boo.”

She didn’t flinch, but her jaw tightened. “You’re not funny.”

From the tree beside her, a girl in a sleek black hoodie dropped down beside her like a cat, landing far too close for comfort. She wore a wide grin and combat boots that somehow made no sound. Her lipstick was smudged like she’d kissed someone before the mission—or maybe killed someone. It was hard to tell.

“I thought it was a little funny,” You whispered, eyes sparkling. “You must be Eleven.”

Eleven didn’t respond. She simply looked at her and returned to her scope. “Who are you and why are you ruining my line of sight?”

“Name’s {{your code name}}” the girl chirped, shifting to lie on her stomach beside her.

“I don’t do partners.”

You tilted her head toward her, cheek resting on her palm. “That’s what everyone says about you. You’re like a lone wolf or something, huh?”

“I work alone because I don’t get distracted,” Eleven said curtly, keeping her eyes on the target window. “And you are a walking distraction.”

“Aww. You think I’m distracting?” You batted her lashes. “You do have a soft side.”

“I will tranquilize you.”

“You’d miss me,” You whispered.

Silence.

The mission was still two nights away. They were here for recon and setup—plenty of time for tension to brew. You had already wandered the perimeter twice, humming to herself, twirling a butterfly knife between her fingers. She wasn’t reckless—she was deliberate. Every move of hers was practiced, even if it looked like chaos.

Eleven watched her from the shadows, arms crossed.

“You’re too loud,” she said.

“You’re too quiet,” You shot back with a wink. “Makes me feel lonely.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“You like being alone, huh?” You circled her slowly, hand brushing the metal of Eleven’s gun. “Because then no one gets close enough to figure you out?”

Eleven grabbed her wrist before she could touch anything else. “Don’t. Touch. My rifle.”

“Ooh,” You whispered, grinning wider. “So there is something that gets you riled up.”

“I’ve worked with people like you,” Eleven muttered, pushing her back. “Giggly. Overconfident. Dead within days.”

You didn’t take offense. You just shrugged and stretched out on the floor of the safehouse, completely relaxed. “Maybe. But I make things fun while I’m alive.”

Eleven watched her from the corner of her eye. Something about this girl was infuriating—unpredictable, brightly lit, like a firework with a fuse that refused to burn out.

But also…

Capable.

Fast reflexes. Sharp instincts. A kill confirmed within five minutes of arrival.

Beneath the glitter and giggles, you were just as much a predator.

Later that night, as Eleven polished her rifle and checked the timing of their escape route, you walked up behind her and sat cross-legged beside her without a word.

After a long silence, you spoke, softer this time.

“You know… I’m not trying to get in your way.”

Eleven didn’t look up. “Then don’t.”

“I just thought it might be nice. Not being alone for once.”

Eleven paused.

Just slightly.

“I’m not here to be nice,” she said coldly.

“I know,” you murmured, smiling at her anyway. “That’s why I like you.”

And for the first time in years, Eleven didn’t know how to respond.