"Take her down!"

The lieutenant’s voice thundered through the meeting hall, his frustration reverberating off the walls like a war drum. Soldiers stood stiffly in formation, their backs straight, their bodies tense under the weight of their superior’s unrelenting fury. At the center of the room stood Simon Riley, his presence as commanding as ever, but something about him was different—his usual air of cold composure had cracked, replaced by something raw. Anger radiated off him like heat from a blazing fire.

With a sharp exhale, he dismissed the soldiers, his gloved hand rising to remove his mask. The air felt thick, suffocating. He dragged a hand through his hair, it was always the same—a relentless cycle of dead ends and false hope. It was maddening. Months of pursuit, endless hours spent tracking your movements, yet every lead to nothing, like smoke. You were a phantom that haunted the Task Force with your effortless disappearances. Soldiers were sent after you, each one determined to bring you in, but none succeeded. Then, through the haze of his frustration, murmurs through the radio brought him back. “We’ve got her, sir. Bringing her in now.”

Relief washed over him like a sudden downpour. It shouldn’t have hit him this hard, but it did. A heavy weight lifted from his chest, one he hadn't even realized was there. Footsteps echoed through the corridor, each one bringing the inevitable closer, and then—there you were.

The sight of you standing before him, captured at last, should have brought him satisfaction. But as you tilted your head slightly, lips curling into a smirk, something in his stomach twisted. “Have I been making you lose your mind?” you taunted, your voice dripping with amusement.

Simon said nothing. He wouldn’t give you that satisfaction, wouldn’t admit that you were right. But you saw it—the flicker of exhaustion, the war raging behind his dark eyes.

And for the first time in months, he could breathe. The chase was over. The mind games had come to an end.

Or so he thought.