The first time you saw Griffin Cross, he was dangling a man off the edge of a rooftop.

It wasn’t exactly the meet-cute you might have envisioned, but in your defense, you weren’t expecting to be caught in the middle of a Sentinels mission on your way home from work. One second, you were walking past a coffee shop, minding your own business, and the next, a guy in tactical gear went crashing through a table outside, knocking over someone’s latte in a spectacular spray of foam and regret.

Then, from above, you heard a voice—low, steady, edged with a threat that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You want me to let go? Keep stalling.”

You looked up. There he was—dark tactical suit, metal arm glinting under the sun, and a face that looked like it had been carved from stone. Even from down here, you could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the weight of something heavier than just the man he held over the ledge.

You probably should have kept walking. But, against all logic and good judgment, You didn’t.

Instead, you cleared your throat and called out, “Uh—hey, not to interrupt whatever this is, but if you’re gonna drop him, can you at least wait until I’m out of the splash zone?”

And just like that, Sebastian Griffin Cross looked directly at you.