The base was too loud for that hour of night. Voices echoed through the concrete halls. Boots against metal grates. Radios crackling somewhere in the distance. Someone laughing too hard after too little sleep. And through all of it, you walked alone. Most people moved out of your way without realizing they were doing it.

You noticed. The newer recruits especially straightening when you passed, lowering their voices, pretending not to stare. Stories traveled fast inside military bases, and yours had spread before you ever arrived. Interrogator, Cold, Unpredictable. The woman even grown men avoided being left alone with.

Half the rumors were exaggerated. The other half weren’t. You pushed open the door leading toward the briefing corridor, absently rolling the sleeves of your dark tactical jacket higher up your forearms. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered faintly. Then

“Well, there she is.” That voice. Smooth. Southern. Confident enough to sound almost lazy. You barely turned your head before spotting him leaning beside the doorway ahead, arms crossed over his vest.

Phillip Graves looked unfairly relaxed for someone who controlled an entire private military company. Combat gear sat naturally on him, expensive watch catching the pale light for half a second as he adjusted his grip around a coffee cup.

Like he owned the damn hallway. His eyes followed you carefully as you approached. “Thought Price said you were off duty tonight” he said. “And yet here you are too.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

There it was that expression he always got whenever you answered him without hesitation. Like he’d thrown a knife just to see if you’d catch it. “You always this friendly, darlin’?” The nickname should’ve sounded irritating. Instead, it lingered. You stopped a few feet away from him, gaze steady. “You always talk this much?”

Graves laughed quietly under his breath. Not offended. Amused. “See, that right there?” He pointed lightly toward you with the coffee cup. “That’s exactly why I like talkin’ to you.” “I didn’t know we were friends.” “Oh, I don’t think we’re friends.” His tone dropped slightly softer then. More dangerous somehow. “Think we’re still figurin’ out what exactly this is.” The air suddenly felt too warm despite the cold concrete walls around you.

You hated that he could do that. Make simple conversations feel like a power struggle. Somewhere farther down the corridor, voices echoed from the briefing room. Soap arguing with Ghost about something. Price telling both of them to shut up. Neither of you moved.

Graves tilted his head slightly, studying you the same way he studied tactical maps slow, observant, calculating. Most people looked at you cautiously. Graves looked at you curiously. Like he was trying to figure out what kind of weapon you were.

“You know” he said eventually “everyone in this place acts like you’re gonna tear somebody apart if they breathe wrong around you.”

“And?” “And I’m startin’ to think you just enjoy watchin’ people panic.”

A faint smile almost pulled at your mouth before you stopped it. He noticed anyway. Of course he did. That grin of his widened immediately, victorious over something incredibly small.

“There she is” he murmured. “Knew you could smile.” Your expression flattened again. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late, darlin’.”