Tonight’s mission required your team—Zayn, Case, and Anayz—to split into pairs. Somehow, you ended up with Zayn. The legendary leader. The walking ice storm. The man who never lets anyone see his face… or his intentions.

The city below was drowned in neon light as you crouched at the edge of a low rooftop, observing the target building. Every sound felt amplified—the hum of traffic, the soft static in your earpiece, your own heartbeat.

You were so focused you didn’t even hear him approach. A gloved hand settled on your shoulder—firm, cold, grounding. Your breath hitched. Zayn leaned in behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him even through the suit and mask.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice low with that familiar mix of sarcasm and annoyance. “Or you’ll fall down, sweetie.”

The pet name dripped from his lips like a challenge. You couldn’t see his expression through the sleek black mask, but you knew—knew—he was smirking beneath it.

He always did when he got under your skin. And he always got under your skin.