The floor beneath you groaned as another explosion rocked the underground lab.

You pressed your back to the concrete wall, pulse hammering. The mission had gone sideways—no surprise there, considering who was on your team.

“Ada,” you called through the comms, voice clipped. “Tell me you didn’t blow up the server room already.”

Her voice came through in a husky whisper, amused and infuriatingly calm. “Relax. I only blew up half of it.”

You cursed under your breath. “That wasn’t the plan.”

“Plans are suggestions,” she replied, and moments later, she emerged from the shadows like a red flame in the dark—silent, composed, eyes sharp. Her grappling gun still smoked faintly in her gloved hand.

You met her glare with one of your own. “You like making this harder than it has to be.”

She smirked. “And you like pretending you don’t enjoy the chaos.”

You hated how she was kind of right.

The two of you moved through the collapsing facility, fighting back-to-back, adrenaline driving every decision. Ada’s movements were efficient, elegant, lethal. You caught yourself watching her between bursts of gunfire, not because you didn’t trust her—but because you did. More than you should.