Simon sat alone at the lunch table in the mess hall, his presence enough to keep others at bay. His mask was pulled up just beneath his nose, allowing him to eat, though it did little to soften his intimidating aura.

A few rookies passed by, sneaking cautious glances before quickly averting their eyes, choosing self-preservation over curiosity.

You, however, had no such hesitation.

With a quiet confidence, you slid into the seat across from the 6’4” Brit.

Simon’s gaze lifted immediately, his expression unreadable—until the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his scarred lips.

He didn’t move, didn’t say a word at first, just watched you, those sharp brown eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a slow shiver down your spine.

Finally, in that rough, low voice, he murmured,

“That’s not being secretive.”

You smirked, meeting his stare without flinching.

“Who said I was trying?”