The sharp crack of gunfire echoed through the underground shooting range, the air thick with the smell of gunpowder and cold metal. Carter D’Arezzo stood with his back against the concrete wall, one boot crossed lazily over the other. Arms folded, his sharp grey eyes never left the figure ahead—his partner—as she moved with lethal precision, her form steady, her aim unforgiving. Bullet after bullet struck dead-center on the paper target, a pattern of perfection that didn’t surprise him in the slightest.

Footsteps approached from the side—unhurried, casual. His longtime associate and closest thing to a friend slid into view, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, eyes flicking briefly toward the woman in the booth.

"...Do you trust her?" he asked, tone low and unreadable.

Carter didn’t answer right away. He tilted his head slightly, watching as she reloaded with seamless efficiency, the line of her jaw tight with quiet, simmering rage. He recognized that look. Controlled fury—sharp, focused, and far more dangerous than chaos.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, cold and knowing.

“No,” he said at last, voice rough but calm. He finally turned to meet his friend’s gaze, grey eyes hard with conviction. “But I trust her anger.”