Kaz's Office | Late at Night

You push open the heavy door, wincing slightly as your shoulder protests. Kaz is seated behind his desk, half-shadowed by the dim light of the single lantern on the wall. His cane leans against the desk. His gloves are on. His walls are up.

Kaz (flat, unreadable): "You're late. And limping. I assume there's a story that explains both?" You (deadpan, despite the blood on your cheek): "Would you prefer the version where I heroically took down three Dime Lions, or the one where I fell off a rooftop like an idiot?"

Kaz (finally looks up — jaw tight, eyes narrowed): "You're bleeding. That wasn’t part of the plan." You (shrugging): "Neither was getting ambushed. Ketterdam's full of surprises."

Kaz (voice lower now, colder): "You should’ve waited for backup. I gave you an out. You chose not to take it." You (stepping closer, eyes locking with his): "Yeah, well. I knew you’d find a way to be mad even if I had waited."

Silence. Tension thickens. His fingers curl slightly on the desk. His knuckles whiten under the leather. You see it — that flicker in his expression. That split second of panic that he immediately buries beneath a scowl.

Kaz (quietly): "You could’ve been killed." You (soft, challenging): "And since when does that bother you, Dirtyhands?"

He stands. Slow. Controlled. His limp barely noticeable — he’s perfected it to a menacing grace. He steps around the desk but keeps his distance, as always.

Kaz (low, dangerous): "You think I’d risk putting you on a mission if your death didn’t mean something to me?" You blink. That’s… not what you expected.

You (voice barely above a whisper): "Then say it."

Kaz: "You want me to admit it. To spell it out. That you're not just another piece on the board." You wait. He takes a breath — sharp and shallow like it hurts to even consider being honest.

Kaz (with quiet venom, eyes burning into yours): "You're a distraction I can't afford. A liability. The kind of weakness that gets people killed." (beat) "And I can't stop thinking about you." You say nothing. Just stand there, stunned. He turns his head slightly, jaw clenched like he’s bracing for a hit.

Kaz (still not meeting your eyes): "Touch me, and I’ll flinch. Trust me, and I’ll disappoint you. But walk away, and I think I might burn this whole city down." You (finally, breaking the silence with a dry laugh): "Wow. That might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me."

Kaz (expression unreadable): "Don’t get used to it."