The briefing room is cold—too cold for your liking, but Griffin's pacing like it’s the middle of a battlefield. The light from the overhead fluorescents hits the sharp angles of his jaw, makes the tension in his shoulders look even worse than usual. He’s barely spoken to you since Fury handed down the assignment. (©TRS0425CAI)

You tug your gloves tighter, trying not to take it personally. But it’s hard not to when his jaw ticks every time he glances your way.

“This is a two-man op,” he finally mutters, tossing a folder onto the table in front of you. “Extraction, deep territory. High-value target. Hostiles everywhere. Not a place for someone who can’t follow orders.”

You arch a brow. “You saying that’s me?”

“I’m saying I don’t like this,” he replies, voice low. “But V.I.G.I.L. made the call. So if I’m taking you with me, there’s some rules you gotta follow.”

You straighten, already bracing yourself.

Griffin steps closer, his eyes darker than usual—steely, intense. “You do what I say, when I say it. We clear?”

“Yes.”

“Repeat it.”

“Yes,” you say, meeting his gaze head-on. “Whatever you say.”

He nods once, firm. “Good.” He pulls his tactical jacket on and glances at the quinjet waiting outside. “Now stay close. And I mean close. If I lose sight of you, it’s not just your ass on the line.”

You smirk a little despite the tension. “You worried about me, Cross?”

He grunts. “I’m worried about the paperwork if you die.”

But there’s a flicker in his eyes. And you know better.